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THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY— 
And  the  Others 


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Suddenly  a  rope     . 


.     yanked  him  from  the  saddle 
[  Page  342  ] 


The 
Coming  of  Cassidy- 


And  the  Others 


BY 

CLARENCE  E.  MULFORD 

Author  of 
Hopalong  Cassidy,  Bar-20  Days,  etc. 


Illustrations  by 
Maynard  Dixon 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.   McCLURG  &  CO. 

1913 


9^/ 


Copyright  1908  "by  The  Red  Book  Corporation 

Copyright  1911  by  Field  and  Stream  Publishing  Co. 

Copyright  1912  by  The  Pearson  Publishing  Co. 

Copyright  1913  by  The  Pearson  Publishing  Co, 


COPYEIGHT 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1913 


Published,  October,  1913 


Copyrighted  in  Great  Britain 


PBKSi  or 
Thb  VAii-BAtion  Co. 

SIXQHAMTUH,   S.    T. 


PREFACE 

It  was  on  one  of  my  annual  visits  to  the  ranch 
that  Red,  whose  welcome  always  seemed  a  little 
warmer  than  that  of  the  others,  finally  took  me 
back  to  the  beginning.  My  friendship  with  the 
outfit  did  not  begin  until  some  years  after  the 
fight  at  Buckskin,  and,  while  I  was  familiar  with 
that  aif air  and  with  the  history  of  the  outfit  from 
that  time  on,  I  had  never  seemed  to  make  much 
headway  back  of  that  encounter.  And  I  must 
confess  that  if  I  had  depended  upon  the  rest  of 
the  outfit  for  enlightenment  I  should  have 
learned  very  httle  of  its  earlier  exploits.  A 
more  secretive  and  bashful  crowd,  when  it  came 
to  their  own  achievements,  would  be  hard  to  find. 
But  Red,  the  big,  smiling,  under-foreman,  at 
last  completely  thawed  and  during  the  last  few 
weeks  of  my  stay,  told  me  story  after  story  about 
the  earlier  days  of  the  ranch  and  the  parts  played 
by  each  member  of  the  outfit.     Names  that  I  had 

[v] 


iV!i05'123 


PREFACE 

heard  mentioned  casually  now  meant  something 
to  me;  the  characters  stepped  out  of  the  obscur- 
ity of  the  past  to  act  their  parts  again.  To  my 
mind's  eye  came  Jimmy  Price,  even  more  mis- 
chievous than  Johnny  Nelson;  "Butch"  Lynch 
and  Charley  James,  who  erred  in  judgment;  the 
coming  and  going  of  Sammy  Porter,  and  why 
"You-Bet"  Somes  never  arrived;  and  others  who 
did  their  best,  or  worst,  and  went  their  way. 
The  tales  will  follow,  as  closely  as  possible,  in 
chronological  order.  Between  some  of  them  the 
interval  is  short;  between  others,  long;  the  less 
interesting  stories  that  should  fill  those  gaps  may 
well  be  omitted. 

It  was  in  the  '70s,  when  the  buffalo  were  fast 
disappearing  from  the  state,  and  the  hunters 
were  beginning  to  turn  to  other  ways  of  earning 
a  living,  that  Buck  Peters  stopped  his  wagon  on 
the  banks  of  Snake  Creek  and  built  himself  a 
sod  dugout  in  the  heart  of  a  country  forbidding 
and  full  of  perils.  It  was  said  that  he  was  only 
the  agent  for  an  eastern  syndicate  that,  carried 
away  by  the  prospects  of  the  cattle  industry, 

[vi] 


PREFACE 

bought  a  "ranch,"  which  later  was  found  to  be 
entirely  strange  to  cattle.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
there  were  no  cows  within  three  hundred  miles 
of  it,  and  there  never  had  been.  Somehow  the 
syndicate  got  in  touch  with  Buck  and  sent  him 
out  to  look  things  over  and  make  a  report  to 
them.  This  he  did,  and  in  his  report  he  stated 
that  the  "ranch"  was  split  in  two  parts  by  about 
forty  square  miles  of  public  land,  which  he  rec- 
ommended that  he  be  allowed  to  buy  according 
to  his  judgment.  When  everything  was  settled 
the  syndicate  found  that  they  owned  the  west, 
and  best,  bank  of  an  unfailing  river  and  both 
banks  of  an  unfailing  creek  for  a  distance  of 
about  thirty  miles.  The  strip  was  not  very  wide 
then,  but  it  did  not  need  to  be,  for  it  cut  off  the 
back-lying  range  from  water  and  rendered  it 
useless  to  anyone  but  his  employers.  Westward 
there  was  no  water  to  amount  to  anything  for 
one  hundred  miles.  When  this  had  been  di- 
gested thoroughly  by  the  syndicate  it  caused 
Buck's  next  pay  check  to  be  twice  the  size  of 
the  first. 

[vii] 


PREFACE 

He  managed  to  live  through  the  winter,  and 
the  following  spring  a  herd  of  about  two  thou- 
sand or  more  poor  cattle  was  delivered  to  him, 
and  he  noticed  at  once  that  fully  half  of  them 
were  unbranded;  but  mavericks  were  cows,  and  in 
those  days  it  was  not  questionable  to  brand  them. 
Persuading  two  members  of  the  drive  outfit  to 
work  for  him  he  settled  down  to  face  the  work 
and  perils  of  ranching  in  a  wild  country.  One 
of  these  two  men,  George  Travis,  did  not  work 
long;  the  other  was  the  man  who  told  me  these 
tales.  Red  went  back  with  the  drive  outfit,  but 
in  Buck's  wagon,  to  return  in  four  weeks  with  it 
heaped  full  of  necessities,  and  to  find  that  trou- 
bles already  had  begun.  Buck's  trust  was  not 
misplaced.  It  was  during  Red's  absence  that 
Bill  Cassidy,  later  to  be  known  by  a  more  de- 
scriptive name,  appeared  upon  the  scene  and 
played  his  cards. 

C.  E.  M. 


[viii] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I  The  Coming  of  Cassidy     ...»-..        1 

II  The    Weasel        .      .      • 22 

III  Jimmy   Price        .      ........     65^ 

IV  Jimmy  Visits  Sharpsville   .      .      .      .      .      .     91 

V  The   Luck  of   Fools      .      .      .      .      ,      .      .118 

VI  Hopalong's   Hop ,      «      .    148 

VII  "  Dealing  the  Odd  "     .      ^     .      .     .      ,      .174 

VIII  The   Norther 198 

IX  The    Drive 223 

X  The  Hold-up 253 

XI  Sammy  Finds  a  Friend       .      .      .      ...      .   288 

XII  Sammy  Knows  the  Game 320 

XIII  His    Code 352 

XIV  Sammy   Hunts   a   Job 382 

XV  When  Johnny  Sloped  ..*••..   407 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Suddenly  a  rope  .  .  ,  yanked  him  from  the 

saddle Frontispiece 

There  was  a  sharp  report 39 

**It*s  Injuns,  close  after  us" 133 


Crawford's  Colt  tore  loose  from  his  fingers  and  dropped 

near  the  wheel  of  the  wagon 249 

"Yo  're  a  liar  I"  rang  out  the  vibrant  voice  of  the  cow- 
man    878 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

AND  THE  OTHERS 

I 
THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

THE  trail  boss  shook  his  fist  after  the  depart- 
ing puncher  and  swore  softly.  He  hated 
to  lose  a  man  at  this  time  and  he  had  been  a  little 
reckless  in  threatening  to  "fire"  him;  but  in  a 
gun-fighting  outfit  there  was  no  room  for  a  hot- 
head. "Cimarron"  was  boss  of  the  outfit  that 
was  driving  a  large  herd  of  cattle  to  California, 
a  feat  that  had  been  accomplished  before,  but 
that  no  man  cared  to  attempt  the  second  time. 
Had  his  soul  been  enriched  by  the  gift  of  proph- 
ecy he  would  have  turned  back.  As  it  was  he 
returned  to  the  work  ahead  of  him.  "Aw,  let 
him  go,"  he  growled.  "He  's  wuss  off  'n  I  am, 
an'  he  '11  find  it  out  quick.  I  never  did  see  no- 
body what  got  crazy  mad  so  quick  as  him." 

[1] 


j;        THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Bill"  Cassidy,  not  yet  of  age,  but  a  man  in 
stature  and  strength,  rode  north  because  it  prom- 
ised him  civilization  quicker  than  any  other  way 
except  the  back  trail,  and  he  was  tired  of  the 
coast  range.  He  had  forgotten  the  trail-boss 
during  the  last  tliree  days  of  his  solitary  journey- 
ing and  the  fact  that  he  was  in  the  center  of  an 
uninhabited  country  nearly  as  large  as  a  good- 
sized  state  gave  him  no  concern ;  he  was  equipped 
for  two  weeks,  and  fortified  by  youth's  confi- 
dence. 

All  day  long  he  rode,  around  mesas  and 
through  draws,  detouring  to  avoid  canyons  and 
bearing  steadily  northward  with  a  certainty  that 
was  a  heritage.  Gradually  the  great  bulk  of 
mesas  swung  off  to  the  west,  and  to  the  east  the 
range  grew  steadily  more  level  as  it  swept  to- 
ward the  peaceful  river  lying  in  the  distant 
valley  like  a  carelessly  flung  rope  of  silver.  The 
forest  vegetation,  so  luxuriant  along  the  rivers 
and  draws  a  day  or  two  before,  was  now  rarely 
seen,  while  chaparrals  and  stunted  mesquite  be- 
came more  common. 

[2] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

He  was  more  than  twenty-five  hundred  feet 
above  the  ocean,  on  a  great  plateau  broken  by 
mesas  that  stretched  away  for  miles  in  a  vast  sea 
of  grass.  There  was  just  enough  tang  in  the 
dry  April  air  to  make  riding  a  pleasure  and  he 
did  not  mind  the  dryness  of  the  season.  Twice 
that  day  he  detoured  to  ride  around  prairie-dog 
towns  and  the  sight  of  buffalo  skeletons  lying  in 
groups  was  not  rare.  Alert  and  contemptuous 
gray  wolves  gave  him  a  passing  glance,  but  the 
coyotes,  slinking  a  little  farther  off,  watched  him 
with  more  interest.  Occasionally  he  had  a  shot 
at  antelope  and  once  was  successful. 

Warned  by  the  gathering  dusk  he  was  casting 
about  for  the  most  favorable  spot  for  his  blan- 
ket and  fire  when  a  horseman  swung  into  sight 
out  of  a  draw  and  reined  in  quickly.  Bill's  hand 
fell  carelessly  to  his  side  while  he  regarded  the 
stranger,  who  spoke  first,  and  with  a  restrained 
welcoming  gladness  in  his  voice.  "Howd'y, 
Stranger!    You  plumb  surprised  me." 

Bill's  examination  told  him  that  the  other  was 
stocky,  compactly  built,  with  a  pleasing  face  and 

[3] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

a  ''good  eye."  His  age  was  about  thirty  and  the 
surface  indications  were  very  favorable.  "Some 
surprised  myself,"  he  replied.  **Ridin'  my 
way?" 

"Far 's  th'  house,"  smiled  the  other.  "Better 
join  us.  Couple  of  buffalo  hunters  dropped  in 
awhile  back." 

"They  '11  go  a  long  way  before  they  '11  find 
buffalo,"  Bill  responded,  suspiciously.  Glancing 
around  he  readily  picked  out  the  rectangular 
blot  in  the  valley,  though  it  was  no  easy  feat. 
"Huntin'  or  ranchin'?"  he  inquired  in  tones  de- 
void of  curiosity. 

"Ranchin',"  smiled  the  other.  "Hefty  propo- 
sition, up  here,  I  reckon.  Th'  wolves  '11  walk  in 
under  yore  nose.     But  I  ain't  seen  no  Injuns." 

"You  will,"  was  the  calm  reply.  "You  '11  see 
a  couple,  first;  an'  then  th'  whole  cussed  tribe. 
They  ain't  got  no  buffalo  no  more,  neither." 

Buck  glanced  at  him  sharply  and  thought  of 
the  hunters,  but  he  nodded.  "Yes.  But  if  that 
couple  don't  go  back?"  he  asked,  referring  to  the 
Indians. 

[4] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Then  you  '11  save  a  little  time." 

"Well,  let  'em  come.  I  'm  here  to  stay,  one 
way  or  th'  other.  But,  anyhow,  I  ain't  got  no 
border  ruffians  like  they  have  over  in  th'  Panhan- 
dle.    They  're  worse  'n  Injuns." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Bill.  "Th'  war  ain't  ended  yet 
for  some  of  them  fellers.  Ex-guerrillas,  lots  of 
'em." 

When  they  reached  the  house  the  buffalo 
hunters  were  arguing  about  their  next  day's  ride 
and  the  elder,  looking  up,  appealed  to  Bill. 
"Howd'y,  Stranger.  Ain't  come  'cross  no  buf- 
faler  signs,  hev  ye?" 

Bill  smiled.  "Bones  an'  old  chips.  But  th' 
gray  wolves  was  headin'  southwest." 

"What  'd  I  tell  you?"  triumphantly  exclaimed 
the  younger  hunter. 

"Well,  they  ain't  much  difrence,  is  they?" 
growled  his  companion. 

Bill  missed  nothing  the  hunters  said  or  did  and 
during  the  silent  meal  had  a  good  chance  to  study 
their  faces.  When  the  pipes  were  going  and 
the  supper  wreck  cleaned  away.  Buck  leaned 

[5] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

against  the  wall  and  looked  across  the  room  at 
the  latest  arrival.  "Don't  want  a  job,  do  you?" 
he  asked. 

Bill  shook  his  head  slowly,  wondering  why  the 
hunters  had  frowned  at  a  job  being  offered  on 
another  man's  ranch.  "I  'm  headed  north.  But 
I  '11  give  you  a  hand  for  a  week  if  you  need  me," 
he  offered. 

Buck  smiled.  *'Much  obliged,  friend;  but 
it  '11  leave  me  worse  off  than  before.  My  other 
puncher  '11  be  back  in  a  few  weeks  with  th'  sup- 
plies, but  I  need  four  men  all  year  'round.  I 
got  a  thousand  head  to  brand  yet." 

The  elder  hunter  looked  up.  "Drive  'em  back 
to  cow-country  an'  sell  'em,  or  locate  there,"  he 
suggested. 

Buck's  glance  was  as  sharp  as  his  reply,  for  he 
could  n't  believe  that  the  hunter  had  so  soon  for- 
gotten w^hat  he  had  been  told  regarding  the  own- 
ership of  the  cattle.  "I  don't  own  'em.  This 
range  is  bought  an'  paid  for.  I  won't  lay 
down." 

"I  done  forgot  they  ain't  yourn,"  hastily  re- 

[6] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

plied  the  hunter,  smiling  to  himself.  Stolen  cat- 
tle cannot  go  back. 

"If  they  was  I  'd  stay,'*  crisply  retorted  Buck. 
**I  ain't  quittin'  nothin'  I  starts." 

"How  many  '11  you  have  nex'  spring?" 
grinned  the  younger  hunter.  He  was  surprised 
by  the  sharpness  of  the  response.  "More  'n  I  've 
got  now,  in  spite  of  h — !" 

Bill  nodded  approval.  He  felt  a  sudden, 
warm  liking  for  this  rugged  man  who  would  not 
quit  in  the  face  of  such  handicaps.  He  liked 
game  men,  better  if  they  were  square,  and  he 
believed  this  foreman  was  as  square  as  he  was 
game.  "By  th'  Lord!"  he  ejaculated.  "For  a 
plugged  peso  I  'd  stay  with  you!" 

Buck  smiled  warmly.  "Would  good  money 
do?    But  don't  you  stay  if  you  oughtn't,  son." 

When  the  light  was  out  Bill  lay  awake  for  a 
long  time,  his  mind  busy  with  his  evening's  ob- 
servations, and  they  pleased  him  so  little  that 
he  did  not  close  his  eyes  until  assured  by  the 
breathing  of  the  hunters  that  they  were  asleep. 
His  Colt,  which  should  have  been  hanging  in  its 

[7] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

holster  on  the  wall  where  he  had  left  it,  lay  un- 
sheathed close  to  his  thigh  and  he  awakened  fre- 
quently during  the  night  so  keyed  was  he  for 
the  slightest  sound.  Up  first  in  the  morning,  he 
replaced  the  gun  in  its  scabbard  before  the  others 
opened  their  eyes,  and  it  was  not  until  the  hunt- 
ers had  ridden  out  of  sight  into  the  southwest 
that  he  entirely  relaxed  his  vigilance.  Saying 
good-by  to  the  two  cowmen  was  not  without  re- 
grets, but  he  shook  hands  heartily  with  them  and 
swung  decisively  northward. 

He  had  been  riding  perhaps  two  hours,  think- 
ing about  the  little  ranch  and  the  hunters,  when 
he  stopped  suddenly  on  the  very  brink  of  a  sheer 
drop  of  two  hundred  feet.  In  his  abstraction 
he  had  ridden  up  the  sloping  southern  face  of 
the  mesa  without  noticing  it.  *'Bet  there  ain't 
another  like  this  for  a  hundred  miles,"  he 
laughed,  and  then  ceased  abruptly  and  started 
with  unbelieving  eyes  at  the  mouth  of  a  draw  not 
far  away.  A  trotting  line  of  gray  wolves  was 
emerging  from  it  and  swinging  toward  the  south- 
west ten  abreast.     He  had  never  heard  of  such 

[8] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

a  thing  before  and  watched  them  in  amazement. 
*'Well,  I'm  — !"  he  exclaimed,  and  his  Colt 
flashed  rapidly  at  the  pack.  Two  or  three 
dropped,  but  the  trotting  line  only  swerved  a 
little  without  pause  or  a  change  of  pace  and  soon 
was  lost  in  another  draw.  "Why,  they  're  sin- 
gle hunters,"  he  muttered.  "Huh!  I  won't 
never  tell  this.  I  can't  hardly  believe  it  myself. 
How  'bout  you,  Ring-Bone?"  he  asked  the 
horse. 

Turning,  he  rode  around  a  rugged  pinnacle 
of  rock  and  stopped  again,  gazing  steadily 
along  the  back  trail.  Far  away  in  a  valley  two 
black  dots  were  crawling  over  a  patch  of  sand 
and  he  knew  them  to  be  horsemen.  His  face 
slowly  reddened  with  anger  at  the  espionage, 
for  he  had  not  thought  the  cowmen  could  doubt 
his  good  will  and  honesty.  Then  suddenly  he 
swore  and  spurred  forward  to  cover  those  miles 
as  speedily  as  possible.  "Come  on,  ol'  Ham- 
mer-Headl"  he  cried.     "We're  goin'  backl" 

The  hunters  had  finally  decided  they  would 
ride  into  the  southwest  and  had  ridden  off  in  that 

[9] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

direction.  But  they  had  detoured  and  swung 
north  to  see  him  pass  and  be  sure  he  was  not  in 
their  way.  Now,  satisfied  upon  that  point,  they 
were  going  back  to  that  herd  of  cattle,  easily 
turned  from  skinning  buffalo  to  cattle,  and  on 
a  large  scale.  To  do  this  they  would  have  to 
kill  two  men  and  then,  waiting  for  the  absent 
puncher  to  return  with  the  wagon,  kill  him  and 
load  down  the  vehicle  with  skins.  "Like  h — ^1 
they  will!"  he  gritted.  "Three  or  none,  you 
piruts.  Come  on,  White-Eye!  Don't  sleep  all 
th'  time;  an'  don't  light  often'r  once  every  ten 
yards,  you  saddle-galled,  barrel-beUied  runt!" 

Into  hollows,  out  again;  shooting  down  steep- 
banked  draws  and  avoiding  cacti  and  chaparral 
with  cat-like  agility,  the  much-described  little 
pony  butted  the  wind  in  front  and  left  a  low- 
lying  cloud  of  dust  swirling  behind  as  it  whirred 
at  top  speed  with  choppy,  tied-in  stride  in  a 
winding  circle  for  the  humble  sod  hut  on  Snake 
Creek.  The  rider  growled  at  the  evident  speed 
of  the  two  men  ahead,  for  he  had  not  gained 
upon  them  despite  his  efforts.     "If  I  'm  too  late 

[10] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

to  stop  it,  I  '11  clean  th'  slate,  anyhow,"  he 
snapped.  "Even  if  I  has  to  ambush  I  Will  you 
run?"  he  demanded,  and  the  wild-eyed  little  bun- 
dle of  whalebone  and  steel  found  a  little  more 
speed  in  its  flashing  legs. 

The  rider  now  began  to  accept  what  cover  he 
could  find  and  when  he  neared  the  hut  left  the 
shelter  of  the  last,  low  hill  for  that  afforded  by 
a  draw  leading  to  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
the  dugout's  rear  wall.  Dismounting,  he  ran 
lightly  forward  on  foot,  alert  and  with  every 
sense  strained  for  a  warning. 

Reaching  the  wall  he  peered  around  the  cor- 
ner and  stifled  an  exclamation.  Buck's  puncher, 
a  knife  in  his  back,  lay  head  down  the  sloping 
path.  Placing  his  ear  to  the  wall  he  listened 
intently  for  some  moments  and  then  suddenly 
caught  sight  of  a  shadow  slowly  creeping  past 
his  toes.  Quickly  as  he  sprang  aside  he  barely 
missed  the  flashing  knife  and  the  bulk  of  the  man 
behind  it,  whose  hand,  outflung  to  save  his  bal- 
ance, accidentally  knocked  the  Colt  from  Bill's 
grasp  and  sent  it  spinning  twenty  feet  away. 

[11] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Without  a  word  they  leaped  together,  fight- 
ing silently,  both  trying  to  gain  the  gun  in  the 
hunter's  holster  and  trying  to  keep  the  other 
from  it.  Bill,  forcing  the  fighting  in  hopes  that 
his  youth  would  stand  a  hot  pace  better  than  the 
other's  years,  pushed  his  enemy  back  against  the 
low  roof  of  the  dugout;  but  as  the  hunter 
tripped  over  it  and  fell  backward,  he  pulled  Bill 
with  him.  Fighting  desperately  they  rolled 
across  the  roof  and  dropped  to  the  sloping  earth 
at  the  doorway,  so  tightly  locked  in  each  other's 
arms  that  the  jar  did  not  separate  them.  The 
hunter,  falling  underneath,  got  the  worst  of  the 
fall  but  kept  on  fighting.  Crashing  into 
the  door  head  first,  they  sent  it  swinging  back 
against  the  wall  and  followed  it,  bumping  down 
the  two  steps  still  locked  together. 

Bill  possessed  strength  remarkable  for  his 
years  and  build  and  he  was  hard  as  iron;  but  he 
had  met  a  man  who  had  the  sinewy  strength  of 
the  plainsman,  whose  greater  age  was  offset  by 
greater  weight  and  the  youth  was  constantly  so 
close  to  defeat  that  a  single  false  move  would 

[12] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

have  been  fatal.  But  luck  favored  him,  for  as 
they  surged  around  the  room  they  crashed  into 
the  heavy  table  and  fell  with  it  on  top  of  them. 
The  hunter  got  its  full  weight  and  the  gash  in 
his  forehead  filled  his  eyes  with  blood.  By  a 
desperate  effort  he  pinned  Bill's  arm  under  his 
knee  and  with  his  left  hand  secured  a  throat  grip, 
but  the  under  man  wriggled  furiously  and 
bridged  so  suddenly  as  to  throw  the  hunter  off 
him  and  Bill's  freed  hand,  crashing  full  into  the 
other's  stomach,  flashed  back  to  release  the  weak- 
ened throat  grip  and  jam  the  tensed  fingers  be- 
tween his  teeth,  holding  them  there  with  all  the 
power  of  his  jaws.  The  dazed  and  gasping 
hunter,  bending  forward  instinctively,  felt  his 
own  throat  seized  and  was  dragged  underneath 
his  furious  opponent. 

In  his  Berserker  rage  Bill  had  forgotten 
about  the  gun,  his  fury  sweeping  everything 
from  him  but  the  primal  desire  to  kill  with  his 
hands,  to  rend  and  crush  like  an  animal.  He 
was  brought  to  his  senses  very  sharply  by  the 
jarring,   crashing  roar  of  the   six-shooter,   the 

[13] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

powder  blowing  away  part  of  his  shirt  and  burn- 
ing his  side.  Twisting  sideways  he  grasped  the 
weapon  with  one  hand,  the  wrist  with  the  other 
and  bent  the  gun  slowly  back,  forcing  its  muz- 
zle farther  and  farther  from  him.  The  hunter, 
at  last  managing  to  free  his  left  hand  from  the 
other's  teeth,  found  it  useless  when  he  tried  to 
release  the  younger  man's  grip  of  the  gun;  and 
the  Colt,  roaring  again,  dropped  from  its  own- 
er's hand  as  he  relaxed. 

The  victor  leaned  against  the  wall,  his  breath 
coming  in  great,  sobbing  gulps,  his  knees  sag- 
ging and  his  head  near  bursting.  He  reeled 
across  the  wrecked  room,  gulped  down  a  drink 
of  whisky  from  the  bottle  on  the  shelf  and, 
stumbling,  groped  his  way  to  the  outer  air  where 
he  jflung  himself  down  on  the  ground,  dazed  and 
dizzy.  When  he  opened  his  eyes  the  air  seemed 
to  be  filled  with  flashes  of  fire  and  huge,  black 
fantastic  blots  that  changed  form  with  great 
swiftness  and  the  hut  danced  and  shifted  like  a 
thing  of  life.  Hot  bands  seemed  to  encircle  his 
throat  and  the  throbbing  in  his  temples  was  like 

[14] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

blows  of  a  hammer.  While  he  writhed  and 
fought  for  breath  a  faint  gunshot  reached  his 
ears  and  found  him  apathetic.  But  the  second, 
following  closely  upon  the  first,  seemed  clearer 
and  brought  him  to  himself  long  enough  to  make 
him  arise  and  stumble  to  his  horse,  and  claw  his 
way  into  the  saddle.  The  animal,  maddened  by 
the  steady  thrust  of  the  spurs,  pitched  viciously 
and  bolted;  but  the  rider  had  learned  his  art  in 
the  sternest  school  in  the  world,  the  "busting" 
corrals  of  the  great  Southwest,  and  he  not  only 
stuck  to  the  saddle,  but  guided  the  fighting  ani- 
mal through  a  barranca  almost  choked  with  ob- 
structions. 

Stretched  full  length  in  a  crevice  near  the  top 
of  a  mesa  lay  the  other  hunter,  his  rifle  trained 
on  a  small  bowlder  several  hundred  yards  down 
and  across  the  draw.  His  first  shot  had  been  an 
inexcusable  blunder  for  a  marksman  like  himself 
and  now  he  had  a  desperate  man  and  a  very 
capable  shot  opposing  him.  If  Buck  could  hold 
out  until  nightfall  he  could  slip  away  in  the  dark- 
ness and  do  some  stalking  on  his  own  account. 

[15] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

For  half  an  hour  they  had  lain  thus,  neither 
daring  to  take  sight.  Buck  could  not  leave  the 
shelter  of  the  bowlder  because  the  high  ground 
behind  him  offered  no  cover ;  but  the  hunter,  tir- 
ing of  the  fruitless  wait,  wriggled  back  into  the 
crevice,  arose  and  slipped  away,  intending  to 
crawl  to  the  edge  of  the  mesa  further  down  and 
get  in  a  shot  from  a  new  angle  before  his  enemy 
learned  of  the  shift;  and  this  shot  would  not  be 
a  blunder.  He  had  just  lowered  himself  down 
a  steep  wall  when  the  noise  of  rolling  pebbles 
caused  him  to  look  around,  expecting  to  see  his 
friend.  Bill  was  just  turning  the  corner  of  the 
wall  and  their  eyes  met  at  the  same  instant. 

'* 'Nds  up!"  snapped  the  youth,  his  Colt 
glinting  as  it  swung  up.  The  hunter,  gripping 
the  rifle  firmly,  looked  into  the  angry  eyes  of 
the  other,  and  slowly  obeyed.  Bill,  watching  the 
rifle  intently,  forthwith  learned  a  lesson  he  never 
forgot:  never  to  watch  a  gun,  but  the  eyes  of 
the  man  who  has  it.  The  left  hand  of  the 
hunter  seemed  to  melt  into  smoke,  and  Bill,  fir- 
ing at  the  same  instant,  blundered  into  a  hit 

[16] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

when  his  surprise  and  carelessness  should  have 
cost  him  dearly.  His  bullet,  missing  its  in- 
tended mark  by  inches,  struck  the  still  moving 
Colt  of  the  other,  knocking  it  into  the  air  and 
numbing  the  hand  that  held  it.  A  searing  pain 
in  his  shoulder  told  him  of  the  closeness  of  the 
call  and  set  his  lips  into  a  thin,  white  line.  The 
hunter,  needing  no  words  to  interpret  the  look 
in  the  youth's  eyes,  swiftly  raised  his  hands, 
holding  the  rifle  high  above  his  head,  but  neg- 
lected to  take  his  finger  from  the  trigger. 

Bill  was  not  overlooking  anything  now  and  he 
noticed  the  crooked  finger.  "Stick  th'  muzzle 
up  J  an'  pull  that  trigger,"  he  commanded, 
sharply.  "Now!"  he  grated.  The  report  came 
crashing  back  from  half  a  dozen  points  as  he 
nodded.  "Drop  it,  an'  turn  'round."  As  the 
other  obeyed  he  stepped  cautiously  forward, 
jammed  his  Colt  into  the  hunter's  back  and  took 
possession  of  a  skinning  knife.  A  few  moments 
later  the  hunter,  trussed  securely  by  a  forty-foot 
lariat,  lay  cursing  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  wall. 

Bill,  collecting  the  weapons,  went  off  to  cache 

[17] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

them  and  then  peered  over  the  mesa's  edge  to 
look  into  the  draw.  A  leaden  splotch  appeared 
on  the  rock  almost  under  his  nose  and  launched 
a  crescendo  scream  into  the  sky  to  whine  into 
silence.  He  ducked  and  leaped  back,  grinning 
foohshly  as  he  realized  Buck's  error.  Turning 
to  approach  the  edge  from  another  point  he  felt 
his  sombrero  jerk  at  his  head  as  another  bullet, 
screaming  plaintively,  followed  the  first.  He 
dropped  like  a  shot,  and  commented  caustically 
upon  his  paucity  of  brains  as  he  gravely  exam- 
ined the  hole  in  his  head  gear.  "Huh!"  he 
grunted.  "I  had  a  fool's  luck  three  times  in 
twenty  minutes, — d — d  if  I  'm  goin'  to  risk  th' 
next  turn.  Three  of  'em,"  he  repeated.  *'I  'm 
a'  Injun  from  now  on.  An'  that  foreman  shore 
can  shoot!" 

He  wriggled  to  the  edge  and  called  out,  care- 
ful not  to  let  any  of  his  anatomy  show  above  the 
sky-line.  "Hey,  Buck!  I  ain't  no  buffalo 
hunter!  This  is  Cassidy,  who  you  wanted  to 
punch  for  you.  Savvy?"  He  listened,  and 
grinned  at  the  eloquent  silence.     "You  talk  too 

[18] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

rapid/'  he  laughed.  Repeating  his  statements 
he  listened  again,  with  the  same  success.  "Now 
I  wonder  is  he  stalkin'  me?  Hey,  BucUr  he 
shouted. 

"Stick  yore  hands  up  an'  f oiler  'em  with  yore 
face,"  said  Buck's  voice  from  below.  Bill  raised 
his  arms  and  slowly  stood  up.  "Now  what  'n 
blazes  do  yoio  want?"  demanded  the  foreman, 
belligerently. 

"Nothin'.  Just  got  them  hunters,  one  of  'em 
alive.  I  reckoned  mebby  you  'd  sorta  like  to 
know  it."  He  paused,  cogitating.  "Reckon 
we  better  turn  him  loose  when  we  gets  back  to 
th'  hut,"  he  suggested.  "I  '11  keep  his  guns,"  he 
added,  grinning. 

The  foreman  stuck  his  head  out  in  sight. 
**Well,  I'm  d — d!"  he  exclaimed,  and  sank 
weakly  back  against  the  bowlder.  "Can  you 
give  me  a  hand?"  he  muttered. 

The  words  did  not  carry  to  the  youth  on  the 
skyline,  but  he  saw,  understood,  and,  slipping 
and  bumping  down  the  steep  wall  with  more 
speed  than  sense,  dashed  across  the  draw  and  up 

[19] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

the  other  side.  He  nodded  sagely  as  he  exam- 
ined the  wound  and  bound  it  carefully  with  the 
sleeve  of  his  own  shirt.  "  'T  ain't  much — loss  of 
blood,  mostly.     Yo  're  better  off  than  Travis." 

"Travis  dead?"  whispered  Buck.  "In  th' 
back!  Pore  feller,  pore  feller;  didn't  have  no 
show.  Tell  me  about  it."  At  the  end  of  the 
story  he  nodded.  "Yo 're  all  right,  Cassidy; 
yo're  a  white  man.  He'd  'a'  stood  a  good 
chance  of  gettin'  me,  'cept  for  you."  A  frown 
clouded  his  face  and  he  looked  weakly  about  him 
as  if  for  an  answer  to  the  question  that  bothered 
him.  "Now  what  am  I  goin'  to  do  up  here  with 
all  these  cows?"  he  muttered. 

Bill  rolled  the  wounded  man  a  cigarette  and 
lit  it  for  him,  after  which  he  fell  to  tossing  peb- 
bles at  a  rock  further  down  the  hill. 

"I  reckon  it  will  be  sorta  tough,"  he  replied, 
slowly.  "But  I  sorta  reckoned  me  an'  you,  an' 
that  other  feller,  can  make  a  big  ranch  out  of 
yore  little  one.  Anyhow,  I  '11  bet  we  can  have 
a  mighty  big  time  tryin'.  A  mighty  fine  time. 
What  you  think?" 

[20] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Buck  smiled  weakly  and  shoved  out  his  hand 
with  a  visible  effort.  **We  can!  Shake,  Bill!*' 
he  said,  contentedly. 


[21] 


II 

THE  WEASEL 

THE  winter  that  followed  the  coming  of 
Bill  Cassidy  to  the  Bar-20  ranch  was  none 
too  mild  to  suit  the  little  outfit  in  the  cabin  on 
Snake  Creek,  but  it  was  not  severe  enough  to 
cause  complaint  and  they  weathered  it  without 
trouble  to  speak  of.  Down  on  the  big  ranges 
lying  closer  to  the  Gulf  the  winter  was  so  mild 
as  to  seem  but  a  brief  interruption  of  summer. 
It  was  on  this  warm,  southern  range  that  Skinny 
Thompson,  one  bright  day  of  early  spring,  loped 
along  the  trail  to  Scoria,  where  he  hoped  to  find 
his  friend.  Lanky  Smith,  and  where  he  deter- 
mined to  put  an  end  to  certain  rumors  that  had 
filtered  down  to  him  on  the  range  and  filled  his 
days  with  anger. 

He  was  within  sight  of  the  little  cow-town 
when  he  met  Frank  Lewis,  but  recently  returned 
froni  a  cattle  drive.     Exchanging  gossip  of  a 

[22] 


THE  WEASEL 

harmless  nature,  Skinny  mildly  scored  his  miss- 
ing friend  and  complained  about  his  flea-like 
ability  to  get  scarce.  Lewis,  laughing,  told  him 
that  Lanky  had  left  town  two  days  before  bound 
north.  Skinny  gravely  explained  that  he  always 
had  to  look  after  his  missing  friend,  who  was 
childish,  irresponsible  and  helpless  when  alone. 
Lewis  laughed  heartily  as  he  pictured  the  absent 
puncher,  and  he  laughed  harder  as  he  pictured 
the  two  together.  Both  lean  as  bean  poles, 
Skinny  stood  six  feet  four,  while  Lanky  was 
fortunate  if  he  topped  five  feet  by  many  inches. 
Also  they  were  inseparable,  which  made  Lewis 
ask  a  question,  "But  how  does  it  come  you  ain't 
with  him?" 

"Well,  we  was  punchin'  down  south  an'  has  a 
li'l  run-in.  When  I  rid  in  that  night  I  found 
he  had  flitted.  What  I  want  to  know  is  what 
business  has  he  got,  siftin'  out  Hke  that  an' 
makin'  me  chase  after  him?" 

"I  dunno,"  replied  Lewis,  amused.  "You  're 
sort  of  gardjean  to  him,  hey?" 

"Well,  he  gets  sort  of  homesick  if  I  ain't  with 

[23] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

him,  anyhow,"  replied  Skinny,  grinning  broadly. 
"An'  who  's  goin'  to  look  after  him  when  I  ain't 
around?" 

"That  puts  me  up  a  tree,"  replied  Lewis.  "I 
shore  can't  guess.  But  you  two  should  ought  to 
'a'  been  stuck  together,  like  them  other  twins 
was.  But  if  he  'd  do  a  thing  like  that  I  'd  think 
you  would  n't  waste  no  time  on  him." 

"Well,  he  is  too  ornery  an'  downright  cussed 
for  any  human  bein'  to  worry  about  very  much, 
or  'sociate  with  steady  an'  reg'lar.  Why,  lookit 
him  gettin'  sore  on  me,  an'  for  nothin'!  But 
I  'm  so  used  to  bein'  abused  I  get  sort  of  lost 
when  he  ain't  around." 

"Well,"  smiled  Lewis,  "he 's  went  up  north  to 
punch  for  Buck  Peters  on  his  li'l  ranch  on  Snake 
Creek.  If  you  want  to  go  after  him,  this  is  th' 
way  I  told  him  to  go,"  and  he  gave  instructions 
hopelessly  inadequate  to  anyone  not  a  plains- 
man. ^  Skinny  nodded,  irritated  by  what  he  re- 
garded as  the  other's  painful  and  unnecessary 
details  and  wheeled  to  ride  on.  He  had  started 
for  town  when  Lewis  stopped  him  with  a  word. 

[24] 


THE  WEASEL 

"Hey,"  he  called.  Skinny  drew  rein  and  looked 
around. 

"Better  ride  in  cautious  like,"  Lewis  re- 
marked, casually.  "Somebody  was  in  town 
when  I  left — he  shore  was  thirsty.  He  ain't 
drinkin'  a  drop,  which  has  riled  him  considerable. 
So-long." 

"Huh!"  grunted  Skinny.  "Much  obliged. 
That 's  one  of  th'  reasons  I  'm  goin'  to  town," 
and  he  started  forward  again,  tight-lipped  and 
grim. 

He  rode  slowly  into  Scoria,  alert,  watching 
windows,  doors  and  corners,  and  dismounted  be- 
fore Quiggs'  saloon,  which  was  the  really  "high- 
toned"  thirst  parlor  in  the  town.  He  noticed 
that  the  proprietor  had  put  black  shades  to  the 
windows  and  door  and  then,  glancing  quickly 
around,  entered.  He  made  straight  for  the  par- 
tition in  the  rear  of  the  building,  but  the  pro- 
prietor's voice  checked  him.  "You  needn't 
bother.  Skinny — there  ain't  nobody  in  there ;  an' 
I  locked  th'  back  door  an  hour  ago."  He 
glanced  around  the  room  and  added,  with  studied 

[25] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

carelessness:  "You  don't  want  to  get  any  reck- 
less today."  He  mopped  the  bar  slowly  and 
coughed  apologetically.     "Don't  get  careless." 

*'I  won't — ^it  's  me  that 's  doin'  th'  hunting 
today,"  Skinny  replied,  meaningly.  "Him 
a-hunting  for  me  yesterday,  when  he  shore 
knowed  I  was  n't  in  town,  when  he  knowed  he 
could  n't  find  me !  I  was  getting  good  an'  tired 
of  him,  an'  so  when  Walt  rode  over  to  see  me 
last  night  an'  told  me  what  th'  coyote  was  doing 
yesterday,  an'  what  he  was  yelling  around,  I 
just  natchurly  had  to  straddle  leather  an'  come 
in.  I  can't  let  him  put  that  onto  me.  Nobody 
can  call  me  a  card  cheat  an'  a  coward  an'  a  few 
other  choice  things  like  he  did  without  seeing  me, 
an'  seeing  me  quick.  An'  I  shore  hope  he  's 
sober.     Are  both  of  'em  in  town,  Larry?" 

"No;  only  Dick.  But  he's  making  noise 
enough  for  two.  He  shore  raised  th'  devil  yes- 
terday." 

"Well,  I  'm  goin'  North  trailin'  Lanky,  but 
before  I  leave  I  'm  shore  goin'  to  sweeten  things 
around  here.     If  I  go  away  without  getting  him 

[26] 


THE  WEASEL 

he  '11  say  he  scared  me  out,  so  I  '11  have  to  do  it 
when  I  come  back,  anyhow.  You  see,  it  might 
just  as  well  be  today.  But  th'  next  time  I  sit 
in  a  game  with  fellers  that  can't  drop  fifty  dol- 
lars without  saying  they  was  cheated  I  '11  be  a 
blamed  sight  bigger  fool  than  I  am  right  now. 
I  should  n't  'a'  taken  cards  with  'em  after  what 
has  passed.  Why  didn't  they  say  they  was 
cheated,  then  an'  there,  an'  not  wait  till  three 
days  after  I  left  town?  All  that 's  bothering 
me  is  Sam:  if  I  get  his  brother  when  he  ain't 
around,  an'  then  goes  North,  he  '11  say  I  had  to 
jump  th'  town  to  get  away  from  him.  But  I  '11 
stop  that  by  giving  him  his  chance  at  me  when  I 
get  back." 

"Say,  why  don't  you  wait  a  day  an'  get  'em 
both  before  you  go?"  asked  Quigg  hopefully, 

**Can't :  Lanky  's  got  two  days'  start  on  me 
an'  I  want  to  catch  him  soon  as  I  can." 

"I  can't  get  it  through  my  head,  nohow," 
Quigg  remarked.  "Everybody  knows  you  play 
square.     I  reckon  they're  hard  losers." 

Skinny  laughed  shortly:     "Why,  can't  you 

[27] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

see  it?  Last  year  I  beat  Dick  Bradley  out  with 
a  woman  over  in  Ballard.  Then  his  fool  brother 
tried  to  cut  in  an'  beat  me  out.  Cards? 
•H — 1!"  he  snorted,  walking  towards  the  door. 
"You  an'  everybody  else  knows — "  he  stopped 
suddenly  and  jerked  his  gun  loose  as  a  shadow 
fell  across  the  doorsill.  Then  he  laughed  and 
slapped  the  newcomer  on  the  shoulder :  "Hullo, 
Ace,  my  boy!  You  had  a  narrow  squeak  then. 
You  want  to  make  more  noise  when  you  turn  cor- 
ners, unless  somebody  's  looking  for  you  with  a 
gun.  How  are  you,  anyhow?  An'  how's  yore 
dad?  I  've  been  going  over  to  see  him  reg- 
ular, right  along,  but  I  've  been  so  busy  I  kept 
putting  it  off." 

"Dad  's  better.  Skinny ;  an'  I  'm  feeling  too 
good  to  be  true.     What  '11  you  have?" 

"Reckon  it 's  my  treat ;  you  wet  last  th'  other 
time.  Ain't  that  right,  Quigg?  Shore,  I 
knowed  it  was." 

*'A11  right,  here 's  luck,"  Ace  smiled. 
"Quigg,  that 's  better  stock ;  an'  would  you  look 
at  th'  style — real  curtains!" 

[28] 


THE  WEASEL 

Quigg  grinned.  "Got  to  have  'em.  I  'm  on 
th'  sunny  side  of  th'  street." 

"I  hear  yo  're  goin'  North,"  Ace  remarked. 

"Yes,  I  am;  but  how  'd  you  know  about  it?" 

"Why,  it  ain't  no  secret,  is  it?"  asked  Ace  in 
surprise.  "If  it  is,  you  must  'a'  told  a  woman. 
I  heard  of  it  from  th'  crowd — everybody  seems 
to  know  about  it.  Yo  're  going  up  alone,  too, 
ain't  you?" 

"Well,  no,  it  ain't  no  secret;  an'  I  am  going 
alone,"  slowly  replied  Skinny.  "Here,  have 
another." 

"All  right — this  is  on  me.  Here 's  more 
luck." 

"Where  is  th'  crowd?" 

"Keeping  under  cover  for  a  while  to  give  you 
plenty  of  elbow  room,"  Ace  replied.  "He 's 
sober  as  a  judge,  Skinny,  an'  mad  as  a  rattler. 
Swears  he  '11  kill  you  on  sight.  An'  his  brother 
ain't  with  him;  if  he  does  come  in  too  soon  I  '11 
see  he  don't  make  it  two  to  one.  Good  luck,  an' 
so-long,"  he  said  quickly,  shaking  hands  and 
walking  towards  the  door.     He  put  one  hand  out 

[29] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

first  and  waved  it,  slowly  stepping  to  the  street 
and  then  walking  rapidly  out  of  sight. 

Skinny  looked  after  him  and  smiled.  "Larry, 
there  's  a  blamed  fine  youngster,"  he  remarked, 
reflectively.  "Well,  he  ought  to  be — he  had  th' 
best  mother  God  ever  put  breath  into,"  He 
thought  for  a  moment  and  then  went  slowly 
towards  the  door.  "I  've  heard  so  much  about 
Bradley's  gun-play  that  I  'm  some  curious. 
Reckon  1 11  see  if  it 's  all  true — "  and  he 
had  leaped  through  the  doorway,  gun  in  hand. 
There  was  no  shot,  no  sign  of  his  enemy.  A 
group  of  men  lounged  in  the  door  of  the  "hash 
house"  farther  down  the  street,  all  friends  of  his, 
and  he  nodded  to  them.  One  of  them  turned 
quickly  and  looked  down  the  intersecting  street, 
saying  something  that  made  his  companions  turn 
and  look  with  him.  The  man  who  had  been 
standing  quietly  by  the  corner  saloon  had  dis- 
appeared. Skinny  smiling  knowingly,  moved 
closer  to  Quigg's  shack  so  as  to  be  better  able  to 
see  around  the  indicated  corner,  and  half  drew 

[30] 


THE  WEASEL 

the  Colt  which  he  had  just  replaced  in  the  hol- 
ster. As  he  drew  even  with  the  corner  of  the 
building  he  heard  Quigg's  warning  shout  and 
dropped  instantly,  a  bullet  singing  over  him  and 
into  a  window  of  a  near-by  store.  He  rolled 
around  the  corner,  scrambled  to  his  feet  and 
dashed  around  the  rear  of  the  saloon  and  the 
corral  behind  it,  crossed  the  street  in  four  bounds 
and  began  to  work  up  behind  the  buildings  on 
his  enemy's  side^of  the  street,  cold  with  anger. 

"Pot   shooting,   hey  I"   he   gritted,    savagely. 

"Says  I  'm  a-scared  to  face  him,  an'  then  tries 
that.  There,  d — n  you!"  His  Colt  exploded 
and  a  piece  of  wood  sprang  from  the  corner 
board  of  Wright's  store.  "Missed!"  he  swore. 
"Anyhow,  I  Ve  notified  you,  you  coyote." 

He  sprang  forward,  turned  the  corner  of  the 
store  and  followed  it  to  the  street.  When  he 
came  to  the  street  end  cf  the  wall  he  leaped  past 
it,  his  Colt  preceding  him.  Finding  no  one  to 
dispute  with  him  he  moved  cautiously  towards  the 
other    corner    and    stopped.     Giving    a    quick 

[31] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

glance  around,  he  smiled  suddenly,  for  the  glass 
in  Quigg's  half -open  door,  with  the  black  curtain 
behind  it,  made  a  fair  mirror.  He  could  see  the 
reflection  of  Wright's  corral  and  Ace  leaning 
against  it,  ready  to  handle  the  brother  if  he 
should  appear  as  a  belligerent;  and  he  could  see 
along  the  other  side  of  the  store,  where  Dick 
Bradley,  crouched,  was  half-way  to  the  street 
and  coming  nearer  at  each  slow  step. 

Skinny,  remembering  the  shot  which  he  had 
so  narrowly  escaped,  resolved  that  he  wouldn't 
take  chances  with  a  man  who  would  pot-shoot. 
He  wheeled,  slipped  back  along  his  side  of  the 
building,  turned  the  rear  corner  and  then,  spurt- 
ing, sprang  out  beyond  the  other  wall,  crying: 
"Here!" 

Bradley,  startled,  fired  under  his  arm  as  he 
leaped  aside.  Turning  while  in  the  air,  his  half- 
raised  Colt  described  a  swift,  short  arc  and 
roared  as  he  alighted.  As  the  bullet  sang  past 
his  enemy's  ear  he  staggered  and  fell, — and 
Skinny's  smoking  gun  chocked  into  its  holster. 

[32] 


THE  WEASEL 

"There,  you  coyote!"  muttered  the  victor. 
"Yore  brother  is  next  if  he  wants  to  take  it  up." 

As  night  fell  Skinny  rode  into  a  small  grove 
and  prepared  to  camp  there.  Picketing  his 
horse,  he  removed  the  saddle  and  dropped  it 
where  he  would  sleep,  for  a  saddle  makes  a  fair 
pillow.  He  threw  his  blanket  after  it  and  then 
started  a  quick,  hot  fire  for  his  cofFee-making. 
While  gathering  fuel  for  it  he  came  across  a 
large  log  and  determined  to  use  it  for  his  night 
fire,  and  for  that  purpose  carried  it  back  to  camp 
with  him.  It  was  not  long  before  he  had  re- 
duced the  provisions  in  his  saddle-bags  and 
leaned  back  against  a  tree  to  enjoy  a  smoke. 
Suddenly  he  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  and 
grew  thoughtful,  finally  slipping  it  into  his 
pocket  and  getting  up. 

"That  coyote's  brother  will  know  I  went  North 
an'  all  about  it,"  he  muttered.  "He  knows  I  've 
got  to  camp  tonight  an'  he  can  foller  a  trail  as 
good  as  th'  next  man.    An'  he  knows  I  shot  his 

[33] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

brother.  I  reckon,  mebby,  he  '11  be  some  sur^ 
prised." 

An  hour  later  a  blanket-covered  figure  lay  with 
its  carefully  covered  feet  to  the  fire,  and  its  head, 
sheltered  from  the  night  air  by  a  sombrero,  lay 
on  the  saddle.  A  rifle  barrel  projected  above 
the  saddle,  the  dim  flickering  light  of  the  green- 
wood fire  and  a  stray  beam  or  two  from  the  moon 
glinted  from  its  rustless  surface.  The  fire  was 
badly  constructed,  giving  almost  no  light,  while 
the  leaves  overhead  shut  out  most  of  the  moon- 
light. 

Thirty  yards  away,  in  another  clearing,  a 
horse  moved  about  at  the  end  of  a  lariat  and  con- 
tentedly cropped  the  rich  grass,  enjoying  a  good 
night's  rest.  An  hour  passed,  another,  and  a 
third  and  fourth,  and  then  the  horse's  ears  flicked 
forward  as  it  turned  its  head  to  see  what  ap- 
proached. 

A  crouched  figure  moved  stealthily  forward  to 
the  edge  of  the  clearing,  paused  to  read  the  brand 
on  the  animal's  flank  and  then  moved  off  towards 
the  fitful  light  of  the  smoking  fire.     Closer  and 

[34] 


THE  WEASEL 

closer  it  drew  until  it  made  out  the  indistinct 
blanketed  figure  on  the  ground.  A  glint  from 
the  rifle  barrel  caused  it  to  shrink  back  deeper 
into  the  shadows  and  raise  the  weapon  it  carried. 
For  half  a  minute  it  stood  thus  and  then,  hold- 
ing back  the  trigger  of  the  rifle  so  there  would  be 
no  warning  clicks,  drew  the  hammer  to  a  full 
cock  and  let  the  trigger  fall  into  place,  slowly 
moving  forward  all  the  while.  A  passing  breeze 
fanned  the  fire  for  an  instant  and  threw  the  gro- 
tesque shadow  of  a  stump  across  the  quiet  figure 
in  the  clearing. 

The  skulker  raised  his  rifle  and  waited  until  he 
had  figured  out  the  exact  mark  and  then  a  burst 
of  fire  and  smoke  leaped  into  the  brush.  He 
bent  low  to  look  under  the  smoke  cloud  and  saw 
that  the  figure  had  not  moved.  Another  flash 
split  the  night  and  then,  assured  beyond  a  doubt, 
he  moved  forward  quickly. 

"First  shot!"  he  exclaimed  with  satisfaction. 
"I  reckons  you  won't  do  no  boastin'  'bout  killin' 
Dick,  d — ^nyou!" 

As  he  was  about  to  drop  to  his  knees  to  search 

[35] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

the  body  he  started  and  sprang  back,  glancing 
fearfully  around  as  he  drew  his  Colt. 

"Han's  up !''  came  the  command  from  the  edge 
of  the  clearing  as  a  man  stepped  into  sight.  "I 
reckon — "  Skinny  leaped  aside  as  the  other's 
gun  roared  out  and  fired  from  his  hip ;  and  Sam 
Bradley  plunged  across  the  blanket-covered  log 
and  leaves. 

''There,"  Skinny  soliloquized,  moving  for- 
ward. *'I  knowed  they  was  coyotes,  both  of 
'em.     Knowed  it  all  th'  time." 

Two  days  north  of  Skinny  on  the  bank  of  Lit- 
tle Wind  River  a  fire  was  burning  itself  out, 
while  four  men  lay  on  the  sand  or  squatted  on 
their  heels  and  watched  it  contentedly.  "Yes, 
I  got  plumb  sick  of  that  country,"  Lanky  Smith 
was  saying,  **an'  when  Buck  sent  for  me  to  go 
up  an'  help  him  out,  I  pulls  up,  an'  here  I  am." 

"I  never  heard  of  th'  Bar-20,"  replied  a  little, 
wizened  man,  whose  eyes  were  so  bright  they 
seemed  to  be  on  fire.  "Did  n't  know  there  was 
any  ranches  in  that  country." 

[36] 


THE  WEASEL 

"Buck  's  got  th'  only  one,"  responded  Lanky, 
packing  his  pipe.  "He's  located  on  Snake 
Creek,  an'  he  's  got  four  thousand  head.  Reckon 
there  ain't  nobody  within  two  hundred  mile 
of  him.  Lewis  said  he  's  got  a  fine  range  an'  all 
th'  water  he  can  use ;  but  three  men  can't  handle 
all  them  cows  in  that  country,  so  I  'm  goin'  up." 

The  little  man's  eyes  seldom  left  Lanky's  face, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  studying  the  stranger  very 
closely.  When  Lanky  had  ridden  upon  their 
noon-day  camp  the  little  man  had  not  lost  a 
movement  that  the  stranger  made  and  the  other 
two,  disappearing  quietly,  returned  a  little  later 
and  nodded  reassuringly  to  their  leader. 

The  wizened  leader  glanced  at  one  of  his  com- 
panions, but  spoke  to  Lanky.  "George,  here, 
said  as  how  they  finally  got  Butch  Lynch.  You 
did  n't  hear  nothin'  about  it,  did  you?" 

"They  was  a  rumor  down  on  Mesquite  range 
that  Butch  was  got.  I  heard  his  gang  was  wiped 
out.  Well,  it  had  to  come  sometime — he  was 
carrpn'  things  with  a  purty  high  hand  for  a  long 
time.     But  I  've  done  heard  that  before;  more  'n 

[37] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

once,  too.  I  reckon  Butch  is  a  lil  too  slick  to  get 
hisself  kUled." 

"Ever  see  him?"  asked  George  carelessly. 

**Never;  an'  don't  want  to.  If  them  fellers 
can't  clean  their  own  range  an'  pertect  their  own 
cows,  I  ain't  got  no  call  to  edge  in." 

"He  's  only  a  couple  of  inches  taller  'n  Jim," 
observed  the  third  man,  glancing  at  his  leader, 
"an'  about  th'  same  build.  But  he  's  h — 1  on 
th'  shoot.  I  saw  him  twice,  but  I  was  mindin' 
my  own  business." 

Lanky  nodded  at  the  leader.  "That  'd  make 
him  about  as  tall  as  me.  Size  don't  make  no 
dif  rence  no  more — King  Colt  makes  'em  look 
all  alike." 

Jim  tossed  away  his  cigarette  and  arose, 
stretching  and  grunting.  "I  shore  ate  too 
much,"  he  complained.  "Well,  there 's  one 
thing  about  yore  friend's  ranch:  he  ain't  got  no 
rustlers  to  fight,  so  he  ain't  as  bad  off  as  he  might 
be.  I  reckon  he  done  named  that  crick  hisself, 
did  n't  he?     I  never  heard  tell  of  it." 

"Yes;  so  Lewis  says.      He  says  he  'd  called  it 

[38] 


There  was  a  sharp  report 


THE  WEASEL 

Split  Mesa  Criqk,  'cause  it  empties  into  Mesa 
River  plumb  acrost  from  a  big  mesa  what 's  split 
in  two  as  clean  as  a  knife  could  'a'  done  it." 

"The  Bar-20  expectin'  you?"  casually  asked 
Jim  as  he  picked  up  his  saddle. 

"Shore;  they  done  sent  for  me.  Me  an'  Buck 
is  old  friends.  He  was  up  in  Montana  ranchin' 
with  a  pardner,  but  Slippery  Trendley  kills  his 
pardner's  wife  an'  drove  th'  feller  loco.  Buck 
an'  him  hunted  Slippery  for  two  years  an'  finally 
drifted  back  south  again.  I  dunno  where 
Frenchy  is.  If  it  wasn't  for  me  I  reckon 
Buck  'd  still  be  on  th'  warpath.  You  bet  he  's 
expectin'  me!"  He  turned  and  threw  his  saddle 
on  the  evil-tempered  horse  he  rode  and,  cinch- 
ing deftly,  slung  himself  up  by  the  stirrup.  As 
he  struck  the  saddle  there  was  a  sharp  report 
and  he  pitched  off  and  sprawled  grotesquely  on 
the  sand.  The  little  man  peered  through  the 
smoke  and  slid  his  gun  back  into  the  holster. 
He  turned  to  his  companions,  who  looked  on  idly 
and  with  but  little  interest.  "Yo  're  d — d 
right  Butch  Lynch  is  too  slick  to  get  killed.     I 

[39] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

ain't  takin'  no  chances  with  nobody  that  rides 
over  my  trail  these  days.  An',  boys,  I  got  a 
great  scheme!  It  comes  to  me  like  a  flash  when 
he  's  talkin'.  Come  on,  pull  out;  an'  don't  open 
yore  traps  till  I  says  so.  I  want  to  figger  this 
thing  out  to  th'  last  card.  George,  shoot  his 
cayuse;  an'  not  another  sound." 

"But  that's  a  good  cayuse;  worth  easy — " 
"Shoot  it!"  shouted  Jim,  his  eyes  snapping. 
It  was  unnecessary  to  add  the  alternative,  for 
George  and  his  companion  had  great  respect  for 
the  lightning-like,  deadly-accurate  gun  hands. 
He  started  to  draw,  but  was  too  late.  The  crash- 
ing report  seemed  to  come  from  the  leader's  hol- 
ster, so  quick  had  been  the  draw,  and  the  horse 
sank  slowly  down,  but  unobserved.  Two  pairs 
of  eyes  asked  a  question  of  the  little  man  and  he 
sneered  in  reply  as  he  lowered  the  gun.  "It 
might  'a'  been  you.  Hereafter  do  what  I  say. 
Now,  go  on  ahead,  an'  keep  quiet." 

After  riding  along  in  silence  for  a  little  while 
the  leader  looked  at  his  companions  and  called 
one  of  them  to  him.     "George,  this  job  is  too 

[40] 


THE  WEASEL 

big  for  the  three  of  us ;  we  can  handle  the  ranch 
end,  but  not  the  drive.  You  know  where  Long- 
horn  an'  his  bunch  are  holdin'  out  on  th'  Tortilla? 
All  right ;  I  Ve  got  a  proposition  for  'em,  an' 
you  are  goin'  up  with  it.  It  won't  take  you  so 
long  if  you  wake  up  an'  don't  loaf  like  you  have 
been.  Now  you  hsten  close,  an'  don't  forget 
a  word":  and  the  little  man  shared  the  plan  he 
had  worked  out,  much  to  his  companion's  de- 
light. Having  made  the  messenger  repeat  it, 
the  little  man  waved  him  off:  "Get  a-goin'; 
you  bust  some  records  or  I  '11  bust  you,  savvy? 
Charley  '11  wait  for  you  at  that  Split  Mesa  that 
fool  puncher  was  a-talkin'  about.  An'  don't  you 
ride  nowheres  near  it  goin'  up — keep  to  th'  east 
of  it.     So-long!" 

He  watched  the  departing  horseman  swing  in 
and  pass  Charley  and  saw  the  playful  blow  and 
counter.  He  smiled  tolerantly  as  their  words 
came  back  to  him,  George's  growing  fainter  and 
fainter  and  Charley's  louder  and  louder  until 
they  rang  in  his  ears.  The  smile  changed  subtly 
and  cynicism  touched  his  face  and  lingered  for 

[41] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

a  moment.  'Tine,  big  bodies — nothing  else," 
he  muttered.  "Big  children,  with  children's 
heads.  A  little  courage,  if  steadied;  but  what  a 
paucity  of  brains !  Good  G — d,  what  a  paucity 
of  brains;  what  a  lack  of  original  thought!" 

Of  some  localities  it  is  said  their  inhabitants 
do  not  die,  but  dry  up  and  blow  away;  this,  so 
far  as  appearances  went,  seemed  true  of  the 
horseman  who  loped  along  the  north  bank  of 
Snake  Creek,  only  he  had  not  arrived  at  the 
"blow  away"  period.  No  one  would  have 
guessed  his  age  as  forty,  for  his  leathery,  wrin- 
kled skin,  thin,  sun-bleached  hair  and  wizened 
body  justified  a  guess  of  sixty.  A  shrewd  ob- 
server looking  him  over  would  find  about  the 
man  a  subtle  air  of  potential  destruction,  which 
might  have  been  caused  by  the  way  he  wore  his 
guns.  A  second  look  and  the  observer  would 
turn  away  oppressed  by  a  disquieting  feeling  that 
evaded  analysis  by  lurking  annoyingly  just  be- 
yond the  horizon  of  thought.  But  a  man  strong 
in  intuition  would  not  have  turned  away;  he 

[42] 


THE  WEASEL 

would  have  backed  off,  alert  and  tense.  Near- 
ing  a  corral  which  loomed  up  ahead,  he  pulled 
rein  and  went  on  at  a  walk,  his  brilliant  eyes 
searching  the  surroundings  with  a  thoroughness 
that  missed  nothing. 

Buck  Peters  was  complaining  as  he  loafed  for 
a  precious  half  hour  in  front  of  the  corral,  but 
Red  Connors  and  Bill  Cassidy,  his  "outfit,"  dis- 
cussed the  low  prices  cattle  were  selling  for,  the 
over-stocked  southern  ranges  and  the  crash  that 
would  come  to  the  more  heavily  mortgaged 
ranches  when  the  market  broke.  This  was  a 
golden  opportunity  to  stock  the  Uttle  ranch,  and 
Buck  was  taking  advantage  of  it.  But  their 
foreman  persisted  in  telling  his  troubles  and  fi- 
nally, out  of  politeness,  they  listened.  The 
burden  of  the  foreman's  plaint  was  the  non-ap- 
pearance of  one  Lanky  Smith,  an  old  friend. 
When  the  second  herd  had  been  delivered  sev- 
eral weeks  before,  Buck,  failing  to  persuade  one 
of  the  drive  outfit  to  remain,  had  asked  the  trail 
boss  to  send  up  Lanky,  and  the  trail  boss  had 
promised. 

[43] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Red  stretched  and  yawned.  "Mebbjr  he's 
lost  th'  way." 

The  foreman  snorted.  "He  can  foUer  a  plain 
trail,  can't  he?  An'  if  he  can  ride  past  Split 
Mesa,  he  's  a  bigger  fool  than  I  ever  heard  of." 

*'Well,  mebby  he  got  drunk  an — " 

"He  don't  get  that  drunk."  Astonishment 
killed  whatever  else  he  might  have  said,  for  a 
stranger  had  ridden  around  the  corral  and  sat 
smiling  at  the  surprise  depicted  on  the  faces  of 
the  three. 

Buck  and  Red,  too  surprised  to  speak,  smiled 
foolishly;  Bill,  also  wordless,  went  upon  his  toes 
and  tensed  himself  for  that  speed  which  had 
given  to  him  hands  never  beaten  on  the  draw. 
The  stranger  glanced  at  him,  but  saw  nothing 
more  than  the  level  gaze  that  searched  his  squint- 
ing eyes  for  the  soul  back  of  them.  The  squint 
increased  and  he  made  a  mental  note  concerning 
Bill  Cassidy,  which  Bill  Cassidy  already  had  done 
regarding  him. 

"I'm  called  Tom  Jayne,"  drawled  the 
stranger.     "I  'm  lookin'  for  Peters." 

[44] 


THE  WEASEL 

*'Yes?"  inquired  Buck  restlessly.    "I  'm  him." 

"Lewis  sent  me  up  to  punch  for  you." 

"You  plumb  surprised  us,"  replied  Buck. 
"We  don't  see  nobody  up  here." 

"Reckon  not,"  agreed  Jayne  smiling.  "I 
ain't  been  pestered  a  hull  lot  by  th'  inhabitants 
on  my  way  up.  I  reckon  there  's  more  buffalo 
than  men  in  this  country." 

Buck  nodded.  "An'  blamed  few  buffalo,  too. 
But  Lewis  didn't  say  nothin'  about  Lanky 
Smith,  did  he?" 

"Yes ;  Smith,  he  goes  up  in  th'  Panhandle  for 
to  be  a  foreman.  Lewis  missed  him.  Th'  Pan- 
handle must  be  purty  nigh  as  crowded  as  this 
country,  I  reckon,"  he  smiled. 

"Well,"  replied  Buck,  "anybody  Lewis  sends 
up  is  good  enough  for  me.  I  'm  payin'  forty  a 
month.  Some  day  I  '11  pay  more,  if  I  'm  able 
to  an'  it 's  earned." 

Jayne  nodded.  "I  'm  aimin'  to  be  here  when 
th'  pay  is  raised;  an'  I  '11  earn  it." 

"Then  shake  ban's  with  Red  an'  Bill,  an'  come 
with  me,"  said  Buck.     He  led  the  way  to  the 

[45] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

dugout,  Bill  and  Red  looking  after  him  and 
the  little  neweomjer.  Red  shook  his  head.  "I 
dunno,"  he  soliloquized,  his  eyes  on  the  recruit's 
guns.  They  were  worn  low  on  the  thighs,  and 
the  lower  ends  of  the  holsters  were  securely  tied 
to  the  trousers.  They  were  low  enough  to  have 
the  butts  even  with  the  swinging  hands,  so  that 
no  time  would  have  to  be  wasted  in  reaching  for 
them;  and  the  sheaths  were  tied  down,  so  they 
would  not  cling  to  the  guns  and  come  up  with 
them  on  the  draw.  Bill  wore  his  guns  the  same 
way  for  the  same  reasons.  Red  glanced  at  his 
friend.  **He  's  a  queer  li'l  cuss.  Bill,"  he  sug- 
gested. Receiving  no  reply,  he  grinned  and  tried 
again.  "I  said  as  how  he's  a  queer  li'l  cuss," 
Bill  stirred.  "Huh?"  he  muttered.  Red 
snorted.  "Why,  I  says  he 's  a  drunk  Injun 
mendin'  socks.  What  in  blazes  you  reckon  I  'd 
say!" 

"Oh,  somethin'  like  that;  but;  you  should  'a' 
said  he's  a — a  weasel.  A  cold-blooded,  fero- 
cious h'l  rat  that  'd  kill  for  th'  joy  of  it,"  and 
Bill  moved  leisurely  to  rope  his  horse. 

[46] 


THE  WEASEL 

Red  looked  after  him,  cogitating  deeply. 
"Cussed  if  I  hadn't,  tool  An'  so  he's  a  two- 
gun  man,  like  Bill.  Wears  'em  plumb  low  an' 
tied.  Yessir,  he 's  a  shore  'nuff  weasel,  all 
right."  He  turned  and  watched  Bill  riding 
away  and  he  grinned  as  two  pictures  came  to  his 
mind.  In  the  first  he  saw  a  youth  enveloped  in 
swirhng  clouds  of  acrid  smoke  as  two  Colts 
flashed  and  roared  with  a  speed  incredible ;  in  the 
second  there  was  no  smoke,  only  the  flashing  of 
hands  and  the  cold  glitter  of  steel,  so  quick  as  to 
baffle  the  eye.  And  even  now  Bill  practiced  the 
draw,  which  pleased  the  foreman;  cartridges  were 
hard  to  get  and  cost  money.  Red  roped  his 
horse  and  threw  on  the  saddle.  As  he  swung  off 
toward  his  section  of  the  range  he  shook  his  head 
and  scowled. 

The  Weasel  had  the  eastern  section,  the  wild- 
est part  of  the  ranch.  It  was  cut  and  seared  by 
arroyos,  barrancas  and  draws;  covered  with  mes- 
quite  and  chaparral  and  broken  by  hills  and 
mesas.  The  cattle  on  it  were  lost  in  the  chaotic 
roughness  and  heavy  vegetation  and  only  showed 

[47] 


THE  COMING  OF  CAS  SIDY 

themselves  when  they  straggled  down  to  the  river 
or  the  creek  to  drink.  A  thousand  head  were 
supposed  to  be  under  his  charge,  but  ten  times 
that  number  would  have  been  but  a  little  more 
noticeable.  He  quickly  learned  ways  of  riding 
from  one  end  of  the  section  to  the  other  without 
showing  himself  to  anyone  who  might  be  a  hun- 
dred yards  from  any  point  of  the  ride ;  he  learned 
the  best  grazing  portions  and  the  safest  trails 
from  them  to  the  ford  opposite  Split  Mesa. 

He  was  veiy  careful  not  to  show  any  interest 
in  Split  Hill  Canyon  and  hardly  even  looked  at 
it  for  the  first  week ;  then  George  returned  from 
his  journey  and  reported  favorably.  He  also, 
with  Longhorn's  assistance,  had  picked  out  and 
learned  a  good  drive  route,  and  it  was  decided 
then  and  there  to  start  things  moving  in  earnest. 

There  were  two  thousand  unbranded  cattle  on 
the  ranch,  the  entire  second  drive  herd;  most  of 
these  were  on  the  south  section  under  Bill  Cas- 
sidy,  and  the  remainder  were  along  the  river. 
The  Weasel  learned  that  most  of  Bill's  cows  pre- 
ferred the  river  to  the  creek  and  crossed  his  sec- 

[48] 


THE  WEASEL 

tion  to  get  there.  That  few  returned  was  due, 
perhaps,  to  their  preference  for  the  eastern  pas- 
ture. In  a  week  the  Weasel  found  the  really 
good  grazing  portions  of  his  section  feeding 
more  cows  than  they  could  keep  on  feeding;  but 
suddenly  the  numbers  fell  to  the  pastures'  capa- 
city, without  adding  a  head  to  Bill's  herd. 

Theu  came  a  day  when  Red  had  been  riding  so 
near  the  Weasel's  section  that  he  decided  to  go 
on  down  and  meet  him  as  he  rode  in  for  dinner. 
When  Red  finally  caught  sight  of  him  the  Weasel 
was  riding  slowly  toward  the  bunkhouse,  buried 
in  thought.  When  his  two  men  had  returned 
from  their  scouting  trip  and  reported  the  best 
way  to  drive,  his  and  their  work  had  begun  in 
earnest.  One  small  herd  had  been  driven  north 
and  turned  over  to  friends  not  far  away,  who 
took  charge  of  the  herd  for  the  rest  of  the  drive 
while  the  Weasel's  companions  returned  to  Split 
Hill. 

Day  after  day  he  had  noticed  the  diminishing 
number  of  cows  on  his  sections,  which  was  ideally 
created  by  nature  to  hide  such  a  deficit,  but  from 

[49] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

now  on  it  would  require  all  his  cleverness  and 
luck  to  hide  the  losses  and  he  would  be  so  busy 
shifting  cattle  that  the  rustling  would  have  to 
ease  up.  One  thing  bothered  him:  Bill  Cassidy 
was  getting  very  suspicious,  and  he  was  not  al- 
together satisfied  that  it  was  due  to  rivalry  in 
gun-play.  He  was  so  deeply  engrossed  in  this 
phase  of  the  situation  that  he  did  not  hear  Red 
approaching  over  the  soft  sand  and  before  Red 
could  make  his  presence  known  something  oc- 
curred that  made  him  keep  silent. 

The  Weasel,  jarred  by  his  horse,  which  shied 
and  reared  with  a  vigor  and  suddenness  its  rider 
believed  entirely  unwarranted  under  the  circum- 
stances, grabbed  the  reins  in  his  left  hand  and 
jerked  viciously,  while  his  right,  a  blur  of  speed, 
drew  and  fired  the  heavy  Colt  with  such  deadly 
accuracy  that  the  offending  rattler's  head 
dropped  under  its  writhing,  glistening  coils,  sev- 
ered clean. 

Red  backed  swiftly  behind  a  chaparral  and 

cogitated,  shaking  his  head  slowly.     *Tunny  how 

bashful  these  gun-artists    are!"    he   muttered. 

[50] 


THE  WEASEL 

"Now  has  he  been  layin*  for  big  bets,  or  was 
he — ?"  the  words  ceased,  but  the  thoughts  ran 
on  and  brought  a  scowl  to  Red*s  face  as  he  de- 
bated the  question. 

•  •••••• 

The  following  day,  a  little  before  noon,  two 
men  stopped  with  sighs  of  relief  at  the  corral  and 
looked  around.  The  little  man  riding  the  horse 
smiled  as  he  glanced  at  his  tall  companion. 
"You  won't  have  to  hoof  it  no  more,  Skinny," 
he  said  gladly.  "It 's  been  a'  awful  experience 
for  both  of  us,  but  you  had  th'  worst  end." 

"Why,  you  stubborn  lil  fool!"  retorted 
Skinny.  "I  can  walk  back  an'  do  it  all  over 
again!"  He  helped  his  companion  down, 
stripped  off  the  saddle  and  turned  the  animal 
loose  with  a  resounding  slap.  "Huh!"  he 
grunted  as  it  kicked  up  its  heels.  "You  oughta 
feel  frisky,  after  loafin'  for  two  weeks  an'  walkin' 
for  another.  Come  on,  Lanky,"  he  said,  turning. 
"There  ain't  nobody  home,  so  we  '11  get  a  fire 
goin'  an'  rustle  chuck  for  all  ban's." 

They  entered  the  dugout  and  looked  around, 

[51] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Lanky  sitting  down  to  rest.  His  companion 
glanced  at  the  mussed  bunks  and  started  a  fire 
to  get  dinner  for  six.  "Mebby  they  don't  ride  in 
at  noon,"  suggested  the  convalescent.  *'Then 
we  '11  eat  it  all,"  grinned  the  cook.  "It 's  comin' 
to  us  by  this  time." 

The  Weasel,  riding  toward  the  rear  wall  of 
the  dugout,  increased  the  pace  w^hen  he  saw  the 
smoke  pouring  out  of  the  chimney,  but  as  he 
neared  the  hut  he  drew  suddenly  and  listened, 
his  expression  of  incredulity  followed  by  one  of 
amazement. 

A  hearty  laugh  and  some  shouted  words  sent 
him  spinning  around  and  back  to  the  chaparral. 
As  soon  as  he  dared  he  swung  north  to  the  creek 
and  risked  its  quicksands  to  ride  down  its  middle. 
Reaching  the  river  he  still  kept  to  the  water  un- 
til he  had  crossed  the  ford  and  scrambled  up  the 
further  bank  to  become  lost  in  the  windings  of  the 
canyon. 

Very  soon  after  the  Weasel's  departure  Buck 
dismounted  at  the  corral  and  stopped  to  listen. 
'^Strangers,"  he  muttered.     "Glad  they  got  th' 

[52] 


THE  WEASEL 

fire  goin',  anyhow."  Walking  to  the  hut  he  en- 
tered and  a  yell  met  him  at  the  instant  recogni- 
tion. 

"Hullo,  Buck!" 

"Lanky!"  he  cried,  leaping  forward. 

"Easy!"  cautioned  the  convalescent,  evading 
the  hand.  "I  've  been  all  shot  up  an'  I  ain't 
right  yet." 

"That  so!    How  'd  it  happen?" 

"Shake  han's  with  Skinny  Thompson,  my  fool 
nurse,"  laughed  Lanky. 

"I  'm  a  fool,  all  right,  helpin'  Aem/'  grinned 
Skinny,  gripping  the  hand.  "But  when  I  picks 
him  up  down  in  th'  Li'l  Wind  River  country  I 
was  a'  angel.  Looked  after  him  for  two  weeks 
down  there,  an'  put  in  another  gettin'  up  here. 
Served  him  right,  too,  for  runnin'  away  from 
me." 

"Little  Wind  River  country!"  exclaimed 
Buck.  "Why,  I  thought  you  was  a  foreman  in 
th'  Panhandle." 

"Foreman  nothin',"  replied  Lanky.  "I  was 
shot  up  by  a  li'l  runt  of  a  rustler  an'  left  to  die 

[53] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

two  hundred  mile  from  nowhere.  I  was  n't  ex- 
pectin'  no  gun-play." 

"He 's  ridin'  up  here,"  explained  Skinny. 
"Meets  three  fellers  an'  gets  friendly.  They 
learns  his  business,  an'  drops  him  sudden  when 
he  's  mountin'.  Butch  Lynch  did  th'  shootin', 
Butch  got  his  name  butcherin  th'  law.  He 
could  n't  make  a  livin'  at  it.  Then  he  got  chased 
out  of  New  Mexico  for  bein'  mixed  up  in  a  free- 
love  sect,  an'  pulls  for  Chicago.  He  reckoned 
he  owned  th'  West,  so  he  drifts  down  here  again 
an'  turns  rustler.  I  dunno  why  he  plugs  Lanky, 
less  'n  he  thinks  Lanky  knows  him  an'  might  try 
to  hand  him  over.  I  'm  honin'  for  to  meet 
Butch." 

Buck  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  amaze- 
ment, suspicion  raging  in  his  mind.  *'Why,  I 
heard  you  went  to  th'  Panhandle!"  he  ejaculated. 

Skinny  grinned:  "A  fine  foreman  he'd 
make,  less  'n  for  a  hawg  ranch!" 

"Who  told  you  that?"  demanded  Lanky,  with 
sudden  interest. 

"Th'  feller  Lewis  sent  up  in  yore  place." 

[54] 


THE  WEASEL 

"What?"  shouted  both  in  one  voice,  and  Lanky 
gave  a  terse  description  of  Butch  Lynch. 
"That  him?" 

"That 's  him,"  answered  Buck.  "But  he  was 
alone.  He  '11  be  in  soon,  'long  with  Bill  an' 
Red — which  way  did  you  come?"  he  demanded 
eagerly.  "Why,  that  was  through  his  section — 
bet  he  saw  you  an'  pulled  out!" 

Skinny  reached  for  his  rifle:  "I'm  goin'  to 
see,"  he  remarked. 

"I  'm  with  you,"  replied  Buck. 

"Me,  too,"  asserted  Lanky,  but  he  was  pushed 
back. 

"You  stay  here,"  ordered  Buck.  "He  might 
ride  in.  An'  you  've  got  to  send  Bill  an'  Red 
after  us." 

Lanky  growled,  but  obeyed,  and  trained  his 
rifle  on  the  door.  But  the  only  man  he  saw  was 
Red,  whose  exit  was  prompt  when  he  had  learned 
the  facts. 

Down  on  the  south  section  Bill,  unaware  of  the 
trend  of  events,  looked  over  the  little  pasture 
that  nestled  between    the   hills    and   wondered 

[55] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

where  the  small  herd  was.  Up  to  within  the  last 
few  days  he  always  had  found  it  here,  loath  to 
leave  the  heavy  grass  and  the  trickling  spring, 
and  watched  over  by  "Old  Mosshead,"  a  very 
pugnacious  steer.  He  scowled  as  he  looked  east 
and  shook  his  head.  "Bet  they  're  crowdin'  on 
th'  Weasel's  section,  too.  Reckon  I  '11  go  over 
and  look  into  it.  He  '11  be  passin'  remarks  about 
th'  way  I  ride  sign."  But  he  reached  the  river 
without  being  rewarded  by  the  sight  of  many  of 
the  missing  cows  and  he  became  pugnaciously 
inquisitive.  He  had  searched  in  vain  for  awhile 
when  he  paused  and  glanced  up  the  river,  catch- 
ing sight  of  a  horseman  who  was  pushing  across 
at  the  ford.  "Now,  what's  th'  Weasel  do:n' 
over  there  ?"  he  growled.  "An'  what 's  his  hurry  ? 
I  never  did  put  no  trust  in  him  an'  I  'm  going  to 
see  what 's  up." 

Not  far  behind  him  a  tall,  lean  man  peered 
over  the  grass-fringed  bank  of  a  draw  and 
watched  him  cross  the  river  and  disappear  over 
the  further  bank.  "Huh!"  muttered  Skinny, 
riding  forward  toward  the  river.     ".That  might 

[56] 


THE  WEASEL 

be  one  of  Peters'  punchers;  but  1 11  trail  him  to 
make  shore." 

Down  the  river  Red  watched  Bill  cross  the 
stream  and  then  saw  a  stranger  follow.  "What 
th'  h — ^1!"  he  growled,  pushing  on.  "That's 
one  of  'em  trailin'  Bill!"  and  he,  in  turn,  forded 
the  river,  hot  on  the  trail  of  the  stranger. 

Bill  finally  dismounted  near  the  mesa,  pro- 
ceeded on  foot  to  the  top  of  the  nearest  rise,  and 
looked  down  into  the  canyon  at  a  point  where  it 
widened  into  a  circular  basin  half  a  mile  across. 
Dust  was  arising  in  thin  clouds  as  the  missing 
cows,  rounded  up  by  three  men,  constantly  in- 
creased the  rustlers'  herd.  To  the  northwest  lay 
the  mesa,  where  the  canyon  narrowed  to  wind  its 
tortuous  way  through;  to  the  southeast  lay  the 
narrow  gateway,  where  the  towering,  perpendic- 
ular cliffs  began  to  melt  into  the  sloping  sides  of 
hills  and  changed  the  canyon  into  a  swiftly 
widening  valley.  The  sight  sent  the  puncher 
running  toward  the  pass,  for  the  herd  had  begun 
to  move  toward  that  outlet,  urged  by  the  Weasel 
and  his  nervous  companions. 

[57] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Back  in  the  hills  Skinny  was  disgusted  and 
called  himself  names.  To  lose  a  man  in  less  than 
a  minute  after  trailing  him  for  an  hour  was  more 
than  his  sensitive  soul  could  stand  without  pro- 
test. Bill  had  disappeared  as  completely  as  if 
he  had  taken  wings  and  flown  away.  The  dis- 
gusted trailer,  dropping  to  all-fours  because  of 
his  great  height,  went  ahead,  hoping  to  blunder 
upon  the  man  he  had  lost. 

Back  of  him  was  Red,  whose  grin  was  not  so 
much  caused  by  Skinny's  dilemna,  which  he  had 
sensed  instantly,  as  it  was  by  the  inartistic  spec- 
tacle Skinny's  mode  of  locomotion  presented  to 
the  man  behind.  There  was  humor  a-plenty  in 
Red's  make-up  and  the  germ  of  mischief  in  his 
soul  was  always  alert  and  willing;  his  finger 
itched  to  pull  the  trigger,  and  the  grin  spread  as 
he  pondered  over  the  probable  antics  of  the  man 
ahead  if  he  should  be  suddenly  grazed  by  a  bullet 
from  the  rear.  "Bet  he  'd  go  right  up  on  his 
head  an'  kick,"  Red  chuckled — and  it  took  all  his 
will  power  to  keep  from  experimenting.  Then, 
suddenly.  Skinny  disappeared,  and  Red's  fretful 

[58] 


THE  WEASEL 

nature  clawed  at  his  tropical  vocabulary  with 
great  success.  It  was  only  too  true — Skinny 
had  become  absolutely  lost,  and  the  angry  Bar-20 
puncher  crawled  furiously  this  way  and  that 
without  success,  until  Skinny  gave  him  a  hot 
clew  that  stung  his  face  with  grit  and  pebbles. 
He  backed,  sneezing,  around  a  rock  and  wrestled 
with  his  dignity.  Skinny,  holed  up  not  far  from 
the  canyon's  rim,  was  throwing  a  mental  fit  and 
caUing  himself  outrageous  names.  *'An'  he 's 
been  trailin'  me!  H — ^1  of  a  fine  fool  I  am; 
I  'm  awful  smart  today,  I  am!  I  done  gave  up 
my  teethin'  ring  too  soon,  I  did."  He  paused 
and  scratched  his  head  reflectively.  "Huh! 
This  is  some  populous  region,  an'  th'  inhabitants 
have  pe-culiar  ways.  Now  I  wonder  who 's 
trailin'  him?  I  'm  due  to  get  cross-eyed  if  I  try 
to  stalk  'em  both." 

A  bullet,  fired  from  an  unexpected  direction, 
removed  the  skin  from  the  tip  of  Skinny's  nose 
and  sent  a  shock  jarring  clean  through  him.  "Is 
that  him,  th'  other  feller,  or  somebody  else?"  he 
fretfully  pondered,  raising  his  hand  to  the  crim- 

[59] 


THE  COMING  OF  C^ASSIDY 

son  spot  in  the  center  of  his  face.  He  did  not 
rub  it — ^he  rubbed  the  air  immediately  in  front  of 
it,  and  was  careful  to  make  no  mistake  in  dis- 
tance. The  second  bullet  struck  a  rock  just  out- 
side the  gully  and  caromed  over  his  head  with  a 
scream  of  baffled  rage.  He  shrunk,  lengthwise 
and  sidewise,  wishing  he  were  not  so  long;  but  he 
kept  on  wriggling,  backward.  "Not  enough 
English,"  he  muttered.  "Thank  th'  Lord  he 
can't  masse!" 

The  firing  put  a  different  aspect  on  things 
down  in  the  basin.  The  Weasel  crowded  the 
herd  into  the  gap  too  suddenly  and  caused  a  bad 
jam,  while  his  companions,  slipping  away  among 
the  bowlders  and  thickets,  worked  swiftly  but 
cautiously  up  the  cliff  by  taking  advantage  of 
the  crevices  and  seams  that  scored  the  wall. 
Climbing  like  goats,  they  slipped  over  the  top 
and  began  a  game  of  hide  and  seek  over  the 
bowlder-strewn,  chaparral-covered  plateau  to 
cover  the  Weasel,  who  worked,  without  cover  of 
any  kind,  in  the  basin. 

Red  was  deep  in  some  fine  calculations  of  an- 

[60] 


THE  WEASEL 

gles  when  his  sombrero  slid  off  his  head  and  dis- 
played a  new  hole,  which  ogled  at  him  with 
Cyclopean  ferocity.  He  ducked,  and  shattered 
all  existing  records  for  the  crawl,  stopping  finally 
when  he  had  covered  twenty  yards  and  collected 
many  thorns  and  bruises.  He  had  worked  close 
to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and  as  he  turned  to  circle 
back  of  his  enemy  he  chanced  to  glance  over  the 
rim,  swore  angrily  and  fired.  The  Weasel,  sav- 
ing himself  from  being  pinned  under  his  stricken 
horse,  leaped  for  the  shelter  of  the  cover  near  the 
foot  of  the  basin's  wall.  Red  was  about  to  fire 
again  when  he  swayed  and  slipped  down  behind 
a  bowlder.  The  rustler,  twenty  yards  away,  be- 
gan to  maneuver  for  another  shot  when  Skinny's 
rifle  cracked  viciously  and  the  cattle  thief,  stag- 
gering to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  stumbled,  fought 
for  his  balance,  and  plunged  down  into  the  basin. 
His  companion,  crawling  swiftly  toward  Skin- 
ny's smoke,  showed  himself  long  enough  for  Red 
to  swing  his  rifle  and  shoot  offhand.  At  that  mo- 
ment Skinny  caught  sight  of  him  and  believed  he 
understood  the  situation.     **You  Conners  or  Cas- 

[61] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

sidy?"  he  demanded  over  the  sights.  Red's  an- 
swer made  him  leap  forward  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  wounded  man,  bandaged  and  sup- 
ported by  his  new  friend,  hobbled  to  the  rim  of 
the  basin  in  time  to  see  the  last  act  of  the  tragedy. 

The  gateway,  now  free  of  cattle,  lay  open  and 
the  Weasel  dashed  for  it  in  an  attempt  to  gain 
the  horses  picketed  on  the  other  side.  He  had 
seen  George  plunge  off  the  cliff  and  knew  that 
the  game  was  up.  As  he  leaped  from  his  cover 
Skinny 's  head  showed  over  the  rim  of  the  cliff 
and  his  bullet  sang  shrilly  over  the  rustler's  head. 
The  second  shot  was  closer,  but  before  Skinny 
could  try  again  Red's  warning  cry  made  him 
lower  the  rifle  and  stare  at  the  gateway. 

The  Weasel  saw  it  at  the  same  time,  slowed  to 
a  rapid  walk,  but  kept  on  for  the  pass,  his  eyes 
riveted  malevolently  on  the  youth  who  had  sud- 
denly arisen  from  behind  a  bowlder  and  started  to 
meet  him. 

"It 's  easy  to  get  him  now,"  growled  Skinny, 
starting  to  raise  the  rifle,  a  picture  of  Lanky's 
narrow  escape  coming  to  his  mind. 

[62] 


THE  WEASEL 

'*Bill  's  right  in  line,"  whispered  Red,  leaning 
forward  tensely  and  robbing  his  other  senses  to 
strengthen  sight.  "They  're  th'  best  in  th' 
Southwest,"  he  breathed. 

Below  them  Bill  and  the  Weasel  calmly  ad- 
vanced, neither  hurried  nor  touching  a  gun. 
Sixty  yards  separated  them — fifty — forty — 
thirty — ''G — d  A'mighty!"  whispered  Skinny, 
his  nails  cutting  into  his  calloused  palms.  Red 
only  quivered.  Twenty-five — twenty.  Then 
the  Weasel  slowed  down,  crouching  a  little,  and 
his  swinging  hands  kept  closer  to  his  thighs. 
Bill,  though  moving  slowly,  stood  erect  and  did 
not  change  his  pace.  Perspiration  beaded  the 
faces  of  the  watchers  on  the  cliff  and  they  almost 
stopped  breathing.  This  was  worse  than  they 
had  expected — forty  yards  would  have  been  close 
enough  to  start  shooting.  "It 's  a  pure  case  of 
speed  now,"  whispered  Red,  suddenly  under- 
standing. The  promised  lesson  was  due — the 
lesson  the  Weasel  had  promised  to  give  Bill  on 
the  draw.  Accuracy  deliberately  was  being 
eliminated  by  that  cold-blooded  advance.     Fif- 

[63] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

teen  yards — ten — eight — six— five — and  a  flurry 
of  smoke.  There  had  been  no  movement  to  the 
eyes  of  the  watchers — ^just  smoke,  and  the  flat 
reports,  that  came  to  them  like  two  beats  of  a 
snare  drum's  roll.  Then  they  saw  Bill  step  back 
as  the  Weasel  pitched  forward.  He  raised  his 
eyes  to  meet  them  and  nodded.  "Come  on,  get 
th'  cayuses.  We  gotta  round  up  th'  herd  afore  it 
scatters,"  he  shouted. 

Red  leaned  against  Skinny  and  laughed 
senselessly.     "Ain't  he  a  d — d  fool?" 

Skinny  stirred  and  nodded.  "He  shore  is; 
but  come  on,     I  don't  want  no  argument  with 


[64] 


Ill 

JIMMY  PRICE 

ON  a  range  far  to  the  north,  Jimmy  Price, 
a  youth  as  time  measures  age,  followed 
the  barranca's  edge  and  whistled  cheerfully.  He 
had  never  heard  of  the  Bar-20,  and  would  have 
showed  no  interest  if  he  had  heard  of  it,  so  long 
as  it  lay  so  far  away.  He  was  abroad  in  search 
of  adventure  and  work,  and  while  his  finances 
were  almost  at  ebb  tide  he  had  youth,  health, 
courage  and  that  temperament  that  laughs  at 
hard  luck  and  believes  in  miracles.  The  tide  was 
so  low  it  must  turn  soon  and  work  would  be 
forthcoming  when  he  needed  it.  Sitting  in  the 
saddle  with  characteristic  erectness  he  loped  down 
a  hill  and  glanced  at  the  faint  trail  that  led  into 
the  hills  to  the  west.  Cogitating  a  moment  he 
followed  it  and  soon  saw  a  cow,  and  soon  after 
others. 

"I  'U  round  up  th'  ranch  house,  get  a  job  for 

[65] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

awhile  an'  then  drift  on  south  again,"  he  thought, 
and  the  whistle  rang  out  with  renewed  cheerful- 
ness. 

He  noticed  that  the  trail  kept  to  the  low 
ground,  skirting  even  little  hills  and  showing 
marked  preference  for  arroyos  and  draws  with 
hut  little  regard,  apparently,  for  direction  or 
miles.  He  had  just  begun  to  cross  a  small  pas- 
ture between  two  hills  when  a  sharp  voice  asked 
a  question:     "Where  you  goin'?" 

He  wheeled  and  saw  a  bewhiskered  horseman 
sitting  quietly  behind  a  thicket.  The  stranger 
held  a  rifle  at  the  ready  and  was  examining  him 
critically.  "Where  you  goin'?"  repeated  the 
stranger,  ominously.  "An'  what 's  yore  busi- 
ness?" 

Jimmy  bridled  at  the  other's  impudent  curi- 
osity and  the  tones  in  which  it  was  voiced,  and 
as  he  looked  the  stranger  over  a  contemptuous 
smile  flickered  about  his  thin  lips.  "Why,  I  'm 
goin'  west,  an'  I  'm  lookin'  for  th'  sunset,"  he 
answered  with  an  exasperating  drawl,  "Ain't 
seen  it,  have  you?" 

[66] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

The  other's  expression  remained  unchanged, 
as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  flippant  and  pugna- 
cious answer.  "Where  you  goin'  an'  what  for?" 
he  demanded  again. 

Jimmy  turned  further  around  in  the  saddle 
and  his  eyes  narrowed.  "I  'm  goin'  to  mind  my 
own  business,  because  it 's  healthy,"  he  retorted. 
"You  th'  President,  or  only  a  king?"  he  de- 
manded, sarcastically. 

"I  'm  boss  of  Tortilla  range,"  came  the  even 
reply.     "You  answer  my  question." 

"Then  you  can  gimme  a  job  an'  save  me  a  lot 
of  fool  ridin',"  smiled  Jimmy.  "It  'U  be  some 
experience  workin'  for  a  sour  dough  as  ornery 
as  you  are.  Fifty  per',  an'  all  th'  rest  of  it. 
Where  do  I  eat  an'  sleep  ?" 

The  stranger  gazed  steadily  at  the  cool,  im- 
pudent youngster,  who  returned  the  look  with  an 
ironical  smile.  "Who  sent  you  out  here?"  he 
demanded  with  blunt  directness. 

"Nobody,"  smiled  Jimmy.  "Nobody  sends 
me  nowhere,  never,  'less  'n  I  want  to  go.  Purty 
near  time  to  eat,  ain't  it?" 

[67] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Come  over  here,"  commanded  the  Boss  of 
Tortilla  range. 

"It 's  closer  from  you  to  me  than  from  me 
to  you." 

"Yo  're  some  sassy,  now  ain't  you?  I  've  got 
a  notion  to  drop  you  an'  save  somebody  else  th' 
job." 

*TIe  '11  be  lucky  if  you  do,  'cause  when  that 
gent  drifts  along  I  'm  natchurally  goin'  to  get 
there  first.     It 's  been  tried  already." 

Anger  glinted  in  the  Boss's  eyes,  but  slowly 
faded  as  a  grim  smile  fought  its  way  into  view. 
"I  've  a  mind  to  give  you  a  job  just  for  th'  great 
pleasure  of  bustin'  yore  spirit." 

"If  yo  're  bettin'  on  that  card  you  wantr.  to 
have  a  copper  handy,"  bantered  Jimmy.  "It 's 
awful  fatal  when  it 's  played  to  win." 

"What 's  yore  name,  you  cub?" 

"Elijah — ain't  I  done  prophesied?  When  do 
I  start  punchin'  yore  eight  cows.  Boss?" 

"Right  now!  I  like  yore  infernal  gall;  an* 
there 's  a  pleasant  time  comin'  when  I  starts 
again'  that  spirit." 

[68] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

"Then  my  name 's  Jimmy,  which  is  enough  for 
you  to  know.  Which  cow  do  I  punch  first?" 
he  grinned. 

"You  ride  ahead  along  th'  trail.  I  '11  show 
you  where  you  eat,"  smiled  the  Boss,  riding 
toward  him. 

Jimmy's  face  took  on  an  expression  of  inno- 
cence that  was  ludicrous. 

"I  alius  let  age  go  first,"  he  slowly  responded. 
"I  might  get  lost  if  I  lead.  I  'm  plumb  polite, 
I  am." 

The  Boss  looked  searchingly  at  him  and  the 
smile  faded.     "What  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Just  what  I  said.  I  'm  plumb  polite,  an' 
hereby  provin'  it.  I  alius  insist  on  bein'  polite. 
Otherwise,  gimme  my  month's  pay  an'  I  '11 
resign.  But  I  'm  shore  some  puncher,"  he 
laughed. 

"I  observed  yore  politeness.  I  'm  surprised 
you  even  know  th'  term.  But  are  you  shore  you 
won't  get  lost  if  you  f oiler  me?"  asked  the  Boss 
with  great  sarcasm. 

"Oh,  that 's  a  chance  I  gotta  take,"  Jimmy  re- 

[69] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

plied  as  his  new  employer  drew  up  alongside. 
"Anyhow,  yo  're  better  lookin'  from  behind." 

"Jimmy,  my  lad,"  observed  the  Boss,  sorrow- 
fully shaking  his  head,  "I  shore  sympaihize  \^dth 
th'  shortness  of  yore  sweet,  young  life.  Some- 
body 's  natchurally  goin'  to  spread  you  all  over 
some  dismal  landscape  one  of  these  days." 

"An'  he  '11  be  a  whole  lot  lucky  if  I  ain't  around 
when  he  tries  it,"  grinned  Jimmy.  "I  got  a'  aw- 
ful temper  when  I  'm  riled,  an'  I  reckons  that 
would  rile  me  up  quite  a  lot." 

The  Boss  laughed  softly  and  pushed  on  ahead, 
Jimmy  flushing  a  little  from  shame  of  his  sus- 
picions. But  a  hundred  yards  behind  him,  rid- 
ing noiselessly  on  the  sand  and  grass,  was  a  man 
who  had  emerged  from  another  thicket  when  he 
saw  the  Boss  go  ahead;  and  he  did  not  for  one 
instant  remove  his  eyes  from  the  new  member  of 
the  outfit.  Jimmy,  due  to  an  uncanny  instinct, 
soon  realized  it,  though  he  did  not  look  around. 
"Huh!  Reckon  I  'm  th'  meat  in  this  sandwich. 
Say,  Boss,  who's  th'  Injun  ridin'  behind  me?" 

he  asked. 

[70] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

"That 's  Longhorn.  Look  out  or  he  '11  gore 
you,"  replied  the  Boss. 

"  *That  'd  be  a  bloody  shame,'  as  th'  English- 
man said.  Are  all  his  habits  as  pleasant  an'  so- 
ciable?" 

"They  're  mostly  worse;  he 's  a  two-gun  man.'* 

"Now  ain't  that  lovely!  Wonder  what  he'd 
do  if  I  scratch  my  laig  sudden?" 

"Let  me  know  ahead  of  time,  so  I  can  get  out 
of  th'  way.  If  you  do  that  it  '11  save  me  fifty 
dollars  an'  a  lot  of  worry." 

"Huh!  I  won't  save  it  for  you.  But  I  wish 
I  could  get  out  my  smokin'  what 's  in  my  hip 
pocket,  without  Longhorn  gamblin'  on  th'  move." 

The  next  day  Jimmy  rode  the  west  section  har- 
assed by  many  emotions.  He  was  weaponless, 
much  to  his  chagrin  and  rage.  He  rode  a  horse 
that  was  such  a  ludicrous  excuse  that  it  made  es- 
cape out  of  the  question,  and  they  even  locked  it 
in  the  corral  at  night.  He  was  always  under  the 
eyes  of  a  man  who  believed  him  ignorant  of  the 
surveillance.  He  already  knew  that  three  dif- 
ferent   brands    of    cattle    "belonged"    to    the 

[71] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"ranch,"  and  his  meager  experience  was  sufficient 
to  acquaint  him  with  a  blotted  brand  when 
the  work  had  been  carelessly  done.  The  Boss 
was  the  foreman  and  his  outfit,  so  far  as  Jimmy 
knew,  consisted  of  Brazo  Charley  and  Longhorn, 
both  of  whom  worked  nights.  The  smiling  ex- 
planation of  the  Boss,  when  Jimmy's  guns  had 
been  locked  up,  he  knew  to  be  only  part  truth. 
"Yo  're  so  plumb  fighty  we  dass  n't  let  you  have 
'em,"  the  Boss  had  said.  *'If  we  got  to  bust  yore 
high-strung,  unlovely  spirit  without  killin'  you, 
you  can't  have  no  guns.  An'  th'  corral  gate  is 
shore  padlocked,  so  keep  th'  cayuse  I  gave  you." 
Jimmy,  enraged,  sprang  forward  to  grab  at 
his  gun,  but  Longhorn,  dexterously  tripping 
him,  leaned  against  the  wall  and  grinned  evilly 
as  the  angry  youth  scrambled  to  his  feet.  "Easy, 
Kid,"  remarked  the  gun-man,  a  Colt  swinging 
carelessly  in  his  hand.  "You  '11  get  as  you  give," 
he  grunted.  "Mind  yore  own  affairs  an'  work, 
an'  we  '11  treat  you  right.  Otherwise — "  the 
shrugging  shoulders  made  further  explanations 
unnecessary. 

[72] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

Jimmy  looked  from  one  to  the  other  and  si- 
lently wheeled,  gained  the  decrepit  horse  and 
rode  out  to  his  allotted  range,  where  he  saturated 
the  air  with  impotent  profanity.  Chancing  to 
look  back  he  saw  a  steer  wheel  and  face  the  south ; 
and  at  other  times  during  the  day  he  saw  that  re- 
peated by  other  cattle — nor  was  this  the  only 
signs  of  trailing.  Having  nothing  to  do  but  ride 
and  observe  the  cattle,  which  showed  no  desire 
to  stray  beyond  the  range  allotted  to  them,  he 
observed  very  thoroughly;  and  when  he  rode 
back  to  the  bunkhouse  that  night  he  had  deci- 
phered the  original  brand  on  his  cows  and  also 
the  foundation  for  that  worn  by  Brazo  Charley's 
herd  on  the  section  next  to  him.  "I  dunno  where 
mine  come  from,  but  Charley's  uster  belong  to 
th'  C  I,  over  near  Sagebinish  basin.  That 's  a 
good  hundred  miles  from  here,  too.  Just  wait 
till  I  get  a  gun!  Trip  me  an'  steal  my  guns, 
huh?  If  I  had  a  good  cayuse  I  'd  have  that  C 
I  bunch  over  here  right  quick !  I  reckon  they  'd 
like  to  see  this  herd." 

When  he  reached  the  bunkhouse  all  traces  of 

[73] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

his  anger  had  disappeared  and  he  ate  hungrily 
during  the  silent  meal. 

When  Longhorn  and  Brazo  pushed  away  from 
the  table  Jimmy  followed  suit  and  talked  pleas- 
antly of  things  common  to  cowmen,  until  the  two 
picked  up  their  saddles  and  rifles  and  departed 
in  the  direction  of  the  corral,  the  Boss  staying 
with  Jimmy  and  effectually  blocking  the  door. 
But  he  could  not  block  Jimmy's  hearing  so  easily 
and  when  the  faint  sound  of  hoofbeats  rolled  past 
the  bunkhouse  Jimmy  knew  that  there  were 
more  than  two  men  doing  the  riding.  He  con- 
cluded the  number  to  be  five,  and  perhaps  six; 
but  his  face  gave  no  indication  of  his  mind's  oc- 
cupation. 

"Play  crib?"  abruptly  demanded  the  Boss, 
taking  a  well-worn  deck  of  cards  from  a  shelf. 
Jimmy  nodded  and  the  game  was  soon  going  on. 
** Seventeen,"  grunted  the  Boss,  pegging  slowly. 
"Pair  of  fools,  they  are,"  he  growled.  "Both 
plumb  stuck  on  one  gal  an'  they  go  courtin'  to- 
gether. She  reminds  me  of  a  slab  of  bacon, 
she  's  that  homely." 

[74] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

Jimmy  laughed  at  the  obvious  lie.  "Well,  a 
gal 's  a  gal  out  here,"  he  replied.  "Twenty  for 
a  pair,"  he  remarked.  He  wondered,  as  he 
pegged,  if  it  was  necessary  to  take  along  an  escort 
when  one  went  courting  on  the  Tortilla.  The 
idea  of  Brazo  and  Longhorn  tolerating  any  rival 
or  any  company  when  courting  struck  him  as 
ludicrous.  "An'  which  is  goin'  to  win  out,  do 
you  reckon?" 

"Longhorn — ^he  's  bad ;  an'  a  better  gun-man. 
Twenty-three  for  six.  Got  th'  other  tray?" 
anxiously  grinned  the  Boss. 

"Nothin'  but  an  eight — that 's  two  for  th'  go. 
My  crib?" 

The  Boss  nodded.  "Ugly  as  blazes,"  he 
mused.  "I  would  n't  court  her,  not  even  in  th' 
dark — huh!  Fifteen  two  an'  a  pair.  That's 
bad  goin',  very  bad  goin',"  he  sighed  as  he 
pegged. 

"But  you  can't  tell  nothin'  'bout  wimmen 
from  their  looks,"  remarked  Jimmy,  with  the 
grave  assurance  of  a  man  whose  experience  in 
that  line  covered  years  instead  of  weeks.    "Now 

[75] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

I  knowed  a  right  purty  gal  once.  She  was 
plumb  sweet  an'  tender  an'  clingin',  she  was. 
An'  she  had  high  ideas,  she  did.  She  went  an' 
told  me  she  w^ould  n't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  no 
man  what  wasn't  honest,  an'  all  that.  But 
when  a  feller  I  knowed  rid  in  to  her  place  one 
night  she  shore  hid  him  under  her  bed  for  three 
days  an'  nights.  He  had  got  real  popular  with 
a  certain  posse  because  he  was  careless  with  a 
straight  iron.  Folks  fairly  yearned  for  to  get 
a  good  look  at  him.  They  rid  up  to  her  place 
and  she  lied  so  sweet  an'  perfect  they  shore 
apologized  for  even  botherin'  her.  Who  'd  'a' 
thought  to  look  under  her  bed,  anyhow?  Some 
day  he  '11  go  back  an'  natchurally  run  off  with 
that  li'l  gal,"  He  scanned  his  hand  and  reached 
for  the  pegs.     "Got  eight  here,"  he  grunted. 

The  Boss  regarded  him  closely.  "She  stood 
off  a  posse  with  her  eyes  an'  mouth,  eh?" 

"Didn't  have  to  stand  'em  off.  They  was 
plumb  ashamed  th'  minute  they  saw  her  blushes. 
An'  they  was  plumb  sorry  for  her  bein'  even  a 
li'l  interested  in  a  no-account  brand-blotter  like 

[76] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

— him."  He  turned  the  crib  over  and  spread 
it  out  with  a  sort  of  disgust.  **Come  purty  near 
bein'  somethin'  in  that  crib,"  he  growled. 

"An'  did  you  know  that  feller?"  the  Boss 
asked  carelessly. 

Jimmy  started  a  little.  "Why,  yes;  he  was 
once  a  pal  of  mine.  But  he  got  so  he  could  blot 
a  brand  plumb  clever.  Us  cow-punchers  shore 
like  to  gamble.  We  are  plumb  childish  th'  way 
we  bust  into  trouble.  I  never  seen  one  yet  that 
was  worth  anythin'  that  would  n't  take  'most  any 
kind  of  a  fool  chance  just  for  th'  devilment  of 
it." 

The  Boss  ruffled  his  cards  reflectively.  "Yes; 
we  are  a  careless  breed.  Sort  of  flighty  an' 
reckless.  Do  you  think  that  gal 's  still  in  love 
with  you?    Wimmin'  is  fickle,"  he  laughed. 

"She  ain't,"  retorted  Jimmy  with  spirit. 
"She  'U  wait  all  right— for  him." 

The  Boss  smiled  cynically.  "You  can't  hide 
it,  Jimmy.  Yo  're  th'  man  what  got  so  popular 
with  th'  sheriff.    Ain't  you?" 

Jimmy  half  arose,  but  the  Boss  waved  him 

[77] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

to  be  seated  again.  "Why,  you  ain't  got  nothin' 
to  fear  out  here,"  he  assured  him.  *'We  sorta 
like  fellers  that  '11  take  a  chance.  I  reckon  we 
all  have  took  th'  short  end  one  time  or  another. 
An'  I  got  th'  idea  mebby  yo  're  worth  more  'n 
fifty  a  month.  Take  any  chances  for  a  hun- 
dred?" 

Jimmy  relaxed  and  grinned  cheerfully.  "I 
reckon  I  'd  do  a  whole  lot  for  a  hundred  real  dol- 
lars every  month." 

*'Yo  're  on,  fur  's  I  'm  concerned.  I  '11  have 
to  speak  to  th'  boys  about  it,  first.  Well,  I  'm 
goin'  to  turn  in.  You  ride  Brazo's  an'  yore  own 
range  for  th'  next  couple  of  days.     Gk)od  night." 

Jimmy  arose  and  sauntered  carelessly  to  the 
door,  watched  the  Boss  enter  his  own  house,  and 
then  sat  down  on  the  wash  bench  and  gazed  con- 
tentedly across  the  moonlit  range.  "Gosh,"  he 
laughed  as  he  went  over  his  story  of  the  beauti- 
ful girl  with  the  high  ideals.  "I  'm  gettin'  to 
be  a  sumptuous  liar,  I  am.  It  comes  so  easy  I 
gotta  look  out  or  I  '11  get  th'  habit.  I  'd  do 
mor'n  lie,  too,  to  get  my  gun  back,  all  right." 

[78] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

He  stretched  ecstatically  and  then  sat  up 
straight.  The  Boss  was  coming  toward  him  and 
something  in  his  hand  glittered  in  the  soft  moon- 
light as  it  swung  back  and  forth.  "Forget 
somethin'?"  called  Jimmy. 

"You  better  stop  watchin'  th'  moonlight," 
laughed  the  Boss  as  he  drew  near,  "That 's  a 
bad  sign — 'specially  while  that  gal 's  waitin'  for 
you.  Here's  yore  gun  an'  belt — I  reckoned 
mebby  you  might  need  it." 

Jimmy  chuckled  as  he  took  the  weapon.  "I 
ain't  so  shore  'bout  needin'  it,  but  I  was  plumb 
lost  without  it.  Kept  feelin'  for  it  all  th'  time 
an'  it  was  gettin'  on  my  nerves."  He  weighed 
it  critically  and  spun  the  cylinder,  carelessly 
feeling  for  the  lead  in  the  chambers  as  the  cyl- 
inder stopped.  Every  one  was  loaded  and  a 
thrill  of  fierce  joy  surged  over  him.  But  he  was 
suspicious — the  offer  was  too  quick  and  trans- 
parent. Slipping  on  the  belt  he  let  the  gun 
slide  into  the  blackened  holster  and  grinned  up 
at  the  Boss.  "Much  obliged.  It  feels  right, 
now."     He  drew  the  Colt  again  and  emptied  the 

[79] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

cartridges  into  his  hand.  "Them  's  th'  only  pills 
as  will  cure  troubles  a  doctor  can't  touch,"  he  ob- 
served, holding  one  up  close  to  his  face  and  shak- 
ing it  at  the  smiling  Boss  in  the  way  of  emphasis. 
His  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  he  strained  to 
hear,  the  soft  swish  inside  the  shell.  "Them  's 
Law  in  this  country,"  he  soliloquized  as  he  slid 
the  tested  shell  in  one  particular  chamber  and 
filled  all  the  others.  "Yessir,"  he  remarked  as 
the  cylinder  slowly  revolved  until  he  had  counted 
the  right  number  of  clicks  and  knew  that  the 
tested  shell  was  in  the  right  place.  "Yessir, 
them 's  The  Law."  The  soft  moonlight  sud- 
denly kissed  the  leveled  barrel  and  showed  the 
determination  that  marked  the  youthful  face  be- 
hind it.  "An'  it  shore  works  both  ways,  Boss," 
he  said  harshly.     "Put  up  yore  paws!" 

As  the  Boss  leaped  forward  the  hammer  fell 
and  caused  a  faint,  cap-like  report.  Then  the 
stars  streamed  across  Jimmy's  vision  and  became 
blotted  out  by  an  inky-black  curtain  that  sud- 
denly enveloped  him.  The  Boss  picked  up  the 
gun    and,    tossing    it    on    the    bench,    waited 

[80] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

for  the  prostrate  youth  to  regain  his  senses. 

Jimmy  stirred  and  looked  around,  his  eyes 
losing  their  look  of  vacancy  and  slowly  filling 
with  murderous  hatred  as  he  saw  the  man  above 
him  and  remembered  what  had  occurred.  **Sand 
sounds  like  powder,  my  youthful  friend,"  the 
Boss  was  saying,  "but  it  don't  work  like  powder. 
I  purty  near  swallowed  yore  gal  story;  but  I 
sorta  reckoned  mebby  I  better  make  shore  about 
you.  Yo're  clever,  Jimmy;  so  clever  that  I 
dass  n't  take  no  chances  with  you.  I  '11  just  tie 
you  up  till  th'  boys  come  back — we  both  know 
what  they  '11  say.  I  'd  'a'  done  it  then  only  I 
like  you;  an'  I  wish  you  had  been  in  earnest  about 
joinin'  us.     Now  get  up." 

Jimmy  arose  slowly  and  cautiously  and  then 
moved  like  a  flash,  only  to  look  down  the  barrel 
of  a  Colt.  His  clenched  hands  fell  to  his  side 
and  he  bowed  his  head ;  but  the  Boss  was  too  wary 
to  be  caught  by  any  pretenses  of  a  broken  spirit. 
"Turn  'round  an'  hoi'  up  yore  ban's,"  he  ordered. 
"I  '11  blow  you  apart  if  you  even  squirms." 

Jimmy  obeyed,  seething  with  impotent  fury, 
[81] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

but  the  steady  pressure  of  the  Colt  on  his  back 
told  him  how  useless  it  was  to  resist.  Life  was 
good,  even  a  few  hours  of  it,  for  in  those  few 
hours  perhaps  a  chance  would  come  to  him.  The 
rope  that  had  hung  on  the  wall  passed  over  his 
wrists  and  in  a  few  moments  he  was  helpless. 
**Now  sit  down,"  came  the  order  and  the  prisoner 
obeyed  sullenly.  The  Boss  went  in  the  bunk- 
house  and  soon  returned,  picked  up  the  captive 
and,  carrying  him  to  the  bunk  prepared  for  him, 
dumped  him  in  it,  tied  a  few  more  knots  and,  clos- 
ing the  door,  securely  propped  it  shut  and  strode 
toward  his  own  quarters,  swearing  savagely  un- 
der his  breath. 

An  houJL^  later,  while  a  string  of  horsemen  rode 
along  the  crooked,  low-lying  trail  across  the  Tor- 
tilla, plain  in  the  moonlight,  a  figure  at  the  bunk- 
house  turned  the  corner,  slipped  to  the  door  and 
carefully  removed  the  props. 

Waiting  a  moment  it  opened  the  door  slowly 
and  slipped  into  die  black  interior,  and  chuckled 
at  the  sarcastic  challenge  from  the  bunk. 
*'Sneakin'  back  again,  hey?"  blazed  Jimmy,  try- 

[82] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

ing  in  vain  to  bridge  on  his  head  and  heels  and 
turn  over  to  face  the  intruder.  "Turn  me  loose 
an'  gimme  a  gun — I  oughta  have  a  chance !" 

''All  right,"  said  a  quiet,  strange  voice. 
"That's  what  I'm  here  for;  but  don't  talk  so 
loud." 

"Who  're  you?" 

"My  name  's  Cassidy.  I  'm  from  th'  Bar-20, 
what  owns  them  cows  you  been  abusin'.  Huhl 
he  shore  tied  some  knots!  Wasn't  takin'  no 
more  chances  with  you,  all  right!" 

"G'wan!    He  never  did  take  none." 

"So  I  've  observed.  Get  th'  blood  circulatin' 
an'  I  '11  give  you  some  war-medicine  for  that  use- 
less gun  of  yourn  what  ain't  sand." 

"Good  for  you!  I'll  sidle  up  agin'  that 
shack  an'  fill  him  so  full  of  lead  he  won't  know 
what  hit  him!" 

"Well,  every  man  does  things  in  his  own  way; 
but  I  've  been  thinkin'  he  oughta  have  a  chance. 
He  shore  gave  you  some.  Take  it  all  in  all,  he  's 
been  purty  white  to  you,  Kid.  Longhorn  'd  'a' 
shot  you  quick  tonight." 

[83] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Yes;  an'  I  'm  goin'  to  get  him,  too!" 

"Now  you  ain't  got  no  gratitude,"  sighed  Cas- 
sidy.  "You  want  to  hog  it  all.  I  was  figgerin* 
to  clean  out  this  place  by  myself,  but  now  you 
cut  in  an'  want  to  freeze  me  out.  But,  Kid, 
mebby  Longhorn  won't  come  back  no  more. 
My  outfit 's  a-layin'  for  his  li'l  party.  I  sent 
'em  down  word  to  expect  a  call  on  our  north  sec- 
tion ;  an'  I  reckon  they  got  a  purty  good  idea  of 
th'  way  up  here,  in  case  they  don't  receive  Long- 
horn  an'  his  friends  as  per  schedule." 

"How  long  you  been  up  here?"  asked  Jimmy 
in  surprise,  pausing  in  his  operation  of  starting 
his  blood  to  circulating. 

"Long  enough  to  know  a  lot  about  this  layout. 
For  instance,  I  know  yo  're  honest.  That 's  why 
I  cut  you  loose  tonight.  You  see,  my  friends 
might  drop  in  here  any  minute  an'  if  you  was  in 
bad  company  they  might  make  a  mistake.  They 
acts  some  hasty,  at  times.  I  'm  also  offerin'  you 
a  good  job  if  you  wants  it.    We  need  another 


man." 


1  'm  yourn,  all  right.     An'  I  reckon  I  will 

[84] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

give  th'  Boss  a  chance.  He'll  be  more  sur- 
prised, that  way." 

Cassidy  nodded  in  the  dark.  "Yes,  I  reckon 
so;  he  '11  have  time  to  wonder  a  h'l.  Now  you 
tell  me  how  yo  're  goin'  at  this  game." 

But  he  didn't  get  a  chance  then,  for  his  com- 
panion, listening  intently,  whistled  softly  and  re- 
ceived an  answer.  In  another  moment  the  room 
was  full  of  figures  and  the  soft  buzz  of  animated 
conversation  held  his  interest.  "All  right,"  said 
a  deep  voice.  "We  '11  keep  on  an'  get  that  herd 
started  back  at  daylight.  If  Longhorn  shows  up 
you  can  handle  him ;  if  you  can't,  there  's  yore 
friend  Jimmy,"  and  the  soft  laugh  warmed  Jim- 
my's heart.  "Why,  Buck,"  rephed  Jimmy's 
friend,  "he 's  spoke  for  that  job  already."  The 
foreman  turned  and  paused  as  he  stood  in  the 
door.  "Don't  forget;  you  ain't  to  wait  for  us. 
Take  Jimmy,  if  you  wants,  an'  head  for  Ole- 
son's.  I  ain't  shore  that  herd  of  hissn  is  good 
enough  for  us.  We  '11  handle  this  li'l  drive- 
herd  easy.      So  long." 

Red  Connors  stuck  his  head  through  a  small 

[85] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

window:  "Hey,  if  Longhorn  shows  up,  give 
him  my  compliments.  I  shore  bungled  that 
shot." 

"'Tain't  th'  first,"  chuckled  Cassidy.  But 
Buck  cut  short  the  arguments  and  led  the  way  to 
Jimmy's  pasture. 

At  daylight  the  Boss  rolled  out  of  his  bunk, 
started  a  fire  and  put  on  a  kettle  of  water  to  get 
hot.  Buckling  on  his  gun  he  opened  the  door 
and  started  toward  the  bunkhouse,  where  every- 
thing appeared  to  be  as  he  had  left  it  the  night 
before. 

**It  's  a  cussed  shame,"  he  growled.  "But  I 
can't  risk  him  bringin'  a  posse  out  here.  What 
th'  devil!"  he  shouted  as  he  ducked.  A  bullet 
sang  over  his  head,  high  above  him,  and  he 
glanced  at  the  bunkhouse  with  renewed  interest. 

Having  notified  the  Boss  of  his  intentions  and 
of  the  change  in  the  situation,  Jimmy  walked 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  and  sent  one  dan- 
gerously close  to  strengthen  the  idea  that  sand 
was  no  longer  sand.  But  the  Boss  had  sur- 
mised this  instantly  and  was  greatly  shocked  by 

[86] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

such  miraculous  happenings  on  his  range.  He 
nodded  cheerfully  at  the  nearing  youth  and  as 
cheerfully  raised  his  gun.  "An'  he  gave  me  a 
chance,  tool  He  could  'a'  got  me  easy  if  he 
didn't  warn  me!  Well,  here  goes.  Kid,"  he 
muttered,  firing. 

Jimmy  promptly  replied  and  scored  a  hit.  It 
was  not  much  of  a  hit,  but  it  carried  reflection 
in  its  sting.  The  Boss's  heart  hardened  as  he 
flinched  instinctively  and  he  sent  forth  his  shots 
with  cool  deliberation.  Jimmy  swayed  and 
stopped,  which  sent  the  Boss  forward  on  the 
jump.  But  the  youth  was  only  further  proving 
his  cleverness  against  a  man  whom  he  could  not 
beat  at  so  long  a  range.  As  the  Boss  stopped 
again  to  get  the  work  over  with,  a  flash  of  smoke 
spurted  from  Jimmy's  hand  and  the  rustler  spun 
half  way  around,  stumbled  and  fell.  Jimmy 
paused  in  indecision,  a  little  suspicious  of  the 
fall,  but  a  noise  behind  him  made  him  wheel 
around  to  look. 

A  horseman,  having  topped  the  little  hill  just 
behind  the  bunkhouse,  was  racing  down  the  slope 

[87] 


THE  COMING  OF  CAS  SIDY 

as  fast  as  his  worn-out  horse  could  carry  liim,  and 
in  his  upraised  hand  a  Colt  glittered  as  it  swung 
down  to  become  lost  in  a  spurt  of  smoke.  Long- 
horn,  returning  to  warn  his  chief,  felt  savage 
elation  at  this  opportunity  to  unload  quite  a 
cargo  of  accumulated  grouches  of  various  kinds 
and  sizes,  which  collection  he  had  picked  up  from 
the  Bar-20  northward  in  a  running  fight  of 
twenty  miles.  Only  a  lucky  cross  trail,  that  had 
led  him  off  at  a  tangent  and  somehow  escaped  the 
eyes  of  his  pursuers,  had  saved  him  from  the  fate 
of  his  companions. 

Jimmy  swung  his  gun  on  the  newcomer,  but 
it  only  clicked,  and  the  vexed  youth  darted  and 
dodged  and  ducked  with  a  speed  and  agility  very 
creditable  as  he  jammed  cartridges  into  the 
empty  chambers.  Jimmy's  interest  in  the  new 
conditions  made  him  forget  that  he  had  a  gun 
and  he  stared  in  rapt  and  delighted  anticipation 
at  the  cloud  of  dust  that  swirled  suddenly  from 
behind  the  corral  and  raced  toward  the  dis- 
gruntled Mr.  Longhorn,  shouting  Red's  message 
as  it  came. 

[88] 


JIMMY  PRICE 

Mr.  Cassidy  sat  jauntily  erect  and  guided  his 
fresh,  gingery  mount  by  the  pressure  of  cunning 
knees.  The  brim  of  his  big  sombrero,  pinned 
back  against  the  crown  by  the  pressure  of  the 
wind,  revealed  the  determination  and  optimism 
that  struggled  to  show  itself  around  his  firmly 
set  lips;  his  neckerchief  flapped  and  cracked  be- 
hind his  head  and  the  hairs  of  his  snow-white  goat- 
skin chaps  rippled  like  a  thing  of  life  and  caused 
Jimmy,  even  in  his  fascinated  interest,  to  covet 
them. 

But  Longhorn's  soul  held  no  reverence  for 
goatskin  and  he  cursed  harder  when  Red's  com- 
pliments struck  his  ear  about  the  time  one  of 
Cassidy 's  struck  his  shoulder.  He  was  firing 
hastily  against  a  man  who  shot  as  though  the 
devil  had  been  his  teacher.  The  man  from  the 
Bar-20  used  two  guns  and  they  roared  like  the 
roll  of  a  drum  and  flashed  through  the  heavy, 
low-lying  cloud  of  swirling  smoke  like  the  dart- 
ing tongue  of  an  angry  snake. 

Longhorn,  enveloped  in  the  acrid  smoke  of 
his  own  gun,  which  wrapped  him  like  a  gaseous 

[89] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

shroud,  knew  that  his  end  had  come.  He  was 
being  shot  to  pieces  by  a  two-gun  man,  the  like 
of  whose  skill  he  had  never  before  seen  or  heard 
of.  As  the  last  note  of  the  short,  five  second, 
cracking  tattoo  died  away  Mr.  Cassidy  slipped 
his  empty  guns  in  their  holsters  and  turned  his 
pony's  head  toward  the  fascinated  spectator, 
whose  mouth  offered  easy  entry  to  smoke  and 
dust.  As  Cassidy  glanced  carelessly  back  at  the 
late  rustler  Jimmy  shut  his  mouth,  gulped, 
opened  it  to  speak,  shut  it  again  and  cleared  his 
dry  throat.  Looking  from  Cassidy  to  Longhorn 
and  back  again,  he  opened  his  mouth  once  more. 
"You — you^ — what'd'ju  pay  for  them  chaps?" 
he  blurted,  idiotically. 


[90] 


IV 
JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

BILL  CAS  SIDY  rode  slowly  into  Sharps- 
ville  and  dismounted  in  front  of  Carter's 
Emporium,  nodding  carelessly  to  the  loungers 
hugging  the  shade  of  the  store.  "Howd'y,"  he 
said.  "Seen  anything  of  Jimmy  Price — a  kid, 
but  about  my  height,  with  brown  hair  and  a  dev- 
ilish disposition?" 

Carter  stretched  and  yawned,  a  signal  for 
a  salvo  of  yawns.  "Nope,  thank  God.  You 
need  n't  describe  nothin'  about  that  Price  cub  to 
none  of  us.  We  know  him.  He  spent  three 
days  here  about  a  year  ago,  an'  th'  town  's  been 
sorta  restin'  up  ever  since.  You  don't  mean  for 
to  tell  us  he  's  comin'  here  again!"  he  exclaimed, 
sitting  up  with  a  jerk. 

Bill  laughed  at  the  expression.  "As  long  as 
you  yearn  for  him  so  powerful  hard,  why  I  gotta 
tell  you  he  's  on  his  way,  anyhow.     I  had  to  go 

[91] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

east  for  a  day's  ride  an'  he  headed  this  way. 
He  's  to  meet  me  here." 

Carter  turned  and  looked  at  the  others  blankly. 
Old  Dad  Johnson  nervously  stroked  his  chin. 
"Well,  then  he  '11  git  here,  all  right,"  he  prophe- 
sied pessimistically.  "He  usually  gets  where  he 
starts  for;  an'  I  'm  plumb  glad  I  'm  goin'  on  to- 
morrow." 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  George  Bruce.  "So  'm  I 
goin'  on,  by  Scott!" 

Grunts  and  envious  looks  came  from  the  group 
and  Carter  squirmed  uneasily.  "That 's  just 
like  you  fellers,  runnin'  away  an'  leavin'  me  to 
face  it.  An'  it  was  you  fellers  what  played  most 
of  th'  tricks  on  him  last  time  he  was  here.  Huh! 
now  I  gotta  pay  for  'em,"  he  growled. 

Bill  glanced  over  the  gloomy  circle  and 
laughed  heartily.  Two  faces  out  of  seven  were 
bright,  Dad's  particularly  so.  "Well,  he  seems 
to  be  quite  a  favorite  around  here,"  he  grinned. 

Carter  snorted.  "Huh!  Seems  to  be 
nothin'." 

"He  ain't  exactly  a  favorite,"  muttered  Daw- 

[92] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

son.    "He  's  a — a — an  event ;  that 's  what  he  is !" 

Carter  nodded.  "Yep;  that's  what  he  is, 
'though  you  just  can't  help  likin'  th'  cub,  he  's 
that  cheerful  in  his  devilment." 

Charley  Logan  stretched  and  yawned. 
"Didn't  hear  nothin'  about  no  Injuns,  did  you? 
A  feller  rid  through  here  yesterday  an'  said  they 
was  out  again." 

Bill  nodded.  "Yes ;  I  did.  An'  there  's  a  lot 
of  rumors  goin'  around.  They  've  been  over  in 
th'  Crazy  Butte  country  an'  I  heard  they  raided 
through  th'  Little  Mountain  Valley  last  week. 
Anyhow,  th'  Seventh  is  out  after  'em,  in  four 
sections." 

"Th'  Seventh  is  a  regiment,"  asserted  George 
Bruce.  "Leastawise  it  was  when  I  was  in  it. 
It  is  th'  best  in  th'  Service." 

Dad  snorted.  "Listen  to  him!  It  was  when 
he  was  in  it!  Lordy,  Lordy,  Lordy!"  he  chuck- 
led." 

"There  hain't  no  cavalry  slick  enough  to  ketch 
Apaches,"  declared  Hank,  dogmatically. 
"Troops  has   too   many  fixin's   an'   sech.     You 

[9S] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

gotta  travel  light  an'  live  without  eatin'  an' 
drinkin'  to  ketch  them  Injuns;  an'  then  you 
never  hardly  sometimes  see  'em,  at  that." 

"Lemme  tell  you,  Mosshead,  th'  Seventh  can 
lick  all  th'  Injuns  ever  spawned!"  asserted  Bruce 
with  heat.  *'It  wiped  out  Black  Kettle's  camp, 
in  th'  dead  of  winter,  too!" 

"That  was  Custer  as  did  that,"  snorted  Carter. 

"Well,  he  was  leadin'  th'  Seventh,  same  as  he 
is  now!" 

Charley  Logan  shook  his  head.  "We  are 
talking  about  ketchin'  'em,  not  fightin'  'em.  An' 
no  cavalry  in  th'  hull  country  can  ketch  'Paches 
in  this  country — it 's  too  rough.  'Paches  are 
only  scarect  of  punchers." 

"Shore,"  asserted  Carter.  "Apaches  laugh  at 
troops,  less  'n  it 's  a  pitched  battle,  when  they 
don't.  Cavalry  chases  'em  so  fur  an'  no  farther; 
punchers  chase  'em  inter  h — ^1,  out  of  it  an'  back 
again." 

"They  shore  is  'lusive,"  cogitated  Lefty  Daw- 
son, carefully  deluging  a  fly  ten  feet  away  and 
shifting  his  cud  for  another  shot.     "An'  I,  for 

[94] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

one,  admits  I  ain't  hankerin'  for  to  chase  'em 
close." 

"Wish  we  could  get  that  cub  Jinmiy  to  chase 
some,"  exclaimed  Carter.  "Afore  he  gits  here," 
he  explained,  thoughtfully. 

"Oh,  he  's  all  right.  Carter,"  spoke  up  Lefty. 
"We  was  all  of  us  young  and  playful  onct." 

"But  we  all  war  n't  he-devils  workin'  day  an' 
night  tryin'  to  make  our  betters  miserable!" 

"Oh,  he  's  a  good  kid,"  remarked  Dad.  "I 
sorta  hates  to  miss  him.  Anyhow,  we  got  th' 
best  of  him,  last  time." 

Bill  finished  rolling  a  cigarette,  lit  it  and 
slowly  addressed  them.  "Well,  all  I  got  to  say 
is  that  he  suits  me  right  plumb  down  to  th' 
ground.  Now,  just  lemme  tell  you  somethin' 
about  Jimmy,"  and  he  gave  them  the  story  of 
Jimmy's  part  in  the  happenings  on  Tortilla 
Range,  to  the  great  delight  of  his  audience. 

"By  Scott,  it's  just  like  him  I"  chuckled 
George  Bruce. 

"That's  shore  Jimmy,  all  right,"  laughed 
Lefty.  • 

[95] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  beamed  Dad.  "He  's 
a  heller,  he  is.     He  's  all  right!" 

"Then  why  don't  you  stay  an'  see  him?"  de- 
manded Carter. 

"I  gotta  go  on,  or  I  would.     Yessir,  I  would!" 

"Reckon  them  Injuns  won't  git  so  fur  north 
as  here,"  suggested  Carter  hopefully,  and  hark- 
ing back  to  the  subject  which  lay  heaviest  on  his 
mind.  "They  've  only  been  here  twict  in  ten 
years." 

"Which  was  twice  too  often,"  asserted  Lefty. 

"Th'  last  time  they  was  here,"  remarked  Dad, 
reminiscently,  "they  didn't  stop  long;  though 
where  they  went  to  I  dunno.  We  gave  'em 
more  'n  they  could  handle.  That  was  th'  time 
I  just  bought  that  new  Sharps  rifle,  an'  what  I 
done  with  that  gun  was  turrible."  He  paused  to 
gather  the  facts  in  the  right  order  before  he  told 
the  story,  and  when  he  looked  around  again  he 
flushed  and  swore.  The  audience  had  silently 
faded  away  to  escape  the  moth-eaten  story  they 
knew  by  heart.  The  fact  that  Dad  usually  im- 
proved it  and  his  part  in  it,  each  time  he  told  it, 

[96] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

did  not  lure  them.  "Cussed  ingrates!"  he  swore, 
turning  to  Bill.     "They  're  plumb  jealous  1" 

"They  act  like  it,  anyhow,"  agreed  Bill  sob- 
erly. "I  'd  like  to  hear  it,  but  I  'm  too  thirsty. 
Come  in  an'  have  one  with  me?"  The  story  was 
indefinitely  postponed. 

An  accordion  wheezed  down  the  street  and  a 
mouth-organ  tried  desperately  to  join  in  from 
the  saloon  next  door,  but,  owing  to  a  great  dif- 
ference in  memory,  did  not  harmonize.  A  roar 
of  laughter  from  Dawson's,  and  the  loud  clink 
of  glasses  told  where  Dad's  would-have-been 
audience  then  was.  Carter  walked  around  his 
counter  and  seated  himself  in  his  favorite  place 
against  the  door  jamb.  Bill,  having  eluded 
Dad,  sat  on  a  keg  of  edibles  and  smoked  in  si- 
lence and  content,  occasionally  slapping  at  the 
flies  which  buzzed  persistently  around  his  head. 
Knocking  the  ashes  from  the  cigarette  he  leaned 
back  lazily  and  looked  at  Carter.  "Wonder 
where  he  is?"  he  muttered. 

"Huh?"  grunted  the  proprietor,  glancing 
around,     "Oh,  you  worryin'  about  that  yearlin'? 

[97] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Well,  you  need  n't  I    Nothin*  never  sidetracks 
Jimmy." 

A  fusillade  of  shots  made  Bill  stand  up,  and 
Carter  leaped  to  his  feet  and  dashed  toward  the 
counter.  But  he  paused  and  looked  around 
foolishly.  "That's  his  yell,"  he  explained. 
**Didn't  I  tell  you?  He's  arrove,  same  as  us- 
ual." 

The  drumming  of  hoofs  came  rapidly  nearer 
and  heads  popped  out  of  windows  and  doors, 
each  head  flanked  hy  a  rifle  barrel.  Above  a 
swirling  cloud  of  dust  glinted  a  spurting  Colt 
and  thrust  through  the  smudge  was  a  hand  wav- 
ing a  strange  collection  of  articles. 

"Hullo,  Kid!"  shouted  Dawson.     "What  you 
got?     See  any  Injuns?" 

"It 's  a  G-string  an'  a  medicine-bag,  by  all 
that's  holy!"  cried  Dad  from  the  harness  shop. 
"Where  'd  you  git  'em,  Jimmy?" 

Jimmy  drew  rein  and  slid  to  a  stand,  pricking 
his  nettlesome  "Calico"  until  it  pranced  to  suit 
him.  Waving  the  Apache  breech-cloth,  the 
medicine-bag  and  a  stocking-shaped  moccasin  in 

[98] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

one  hand,  he  proudly  held  up  an  old,  dirty,  bat- 
tered Winchester  repeater  in  the  other  and 
Tvhooped  a  war-cry. 

"Blame  my  hide!"  shouted  Dad,  running  out 
into  the  street.  "It  is  a  Gr-string!  He  's  gone 
an'  got  one  of  'em !  He  's  gone  an'  got  a  'Pache ! 
Good  boy,  Kid  I    An'  how  'd  you  do  it  ?" 

Carter  plodded  through  the  dust  with  Bill 
close  behind.  ''Where 'd  you  do  it?"  demanded 
the  proprietor  eagerly.  To  Carter  location 
meant  more  than  method.  He  was  plainiy  nerv- 
ous. When  he  reached  the  crowd  he,  in  turn, 
examined  the  trophies.  They  were  genuine,  and 
on  the  G-string  was  a  splotch  of  crimson,  muddy 
with  dust. 

"What's  in  the  war-bag,  Kid?"  demanded 
Lefty,  preparing  to  see  for  himself.  Jimmy 
snatched  it  from  his  hands.  "You  never  mind 
what's  in  it,  Freckle-face!"  he  snapped. 
"That 's  my  bag,  now.    Want  to  spoil  my  luck?" 

"How'd  you  do  it?"  demanded  Dad  breath- 
lessly. 

"Where 'A  you  do  it?"  snapped  Carter.     He 

[99] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

glanced  hurriedly  around  the  horizon  and  re- 
peated the  question  with  vehemence.  *' Where  'd 
you  get  him?" 

"In  th'  groin,  first.     Then  through  th'— " 

"I  don't  mean  where,  I  mean  where — near 
here?"  interrupted  Carter. 

"Oh,  fifteen  mile  east,"  answered  Jimmy. 
"He  was  crawlin'  down  on  a  hunch  of  cattle.  He 
saw  me  just  as  I  saw  him.  But  he  missed  an'  I 
did  n't,"  he  gloated  proudly.  "I  met  a  Pawnee 
scout  just  afterward  an'  he  near  got  shot  before 
he  signaled.  He  says  hell's  a-poppin'.  Th* 
'Paches  are  raidin'  all  over  th'  country,  down — " 

"I  knqwed  it!"  shouted  Carter.  "Yessir,  I 
knowed  it !  I  felt  it  all  along!  Where  you  finds 
one  you  finds  a  bunch!" 

"We'll  give  'em  blazes,  like  th'  last  time!" 
cried  Dad,  hurrying  away  to  the  harness  shop 
where  he  had  left  his  rifle. 

"I  've  been  needin'  some  excitement  for  a  long 
time,"  laughed  Dawson.     "I  shore  hope  they 


come." 


Carter  paused  long  enough  to  retort  over  his 

[100] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHAHPSVTLtfi 

shoulder:  **An'  I  hopes  you  drop  dead!  You 
never  did  have  no  sense!    Not  nohow!" 

Bill  smiled  at  the  sudden  awakening  and 
watched  the  scrambling  for  weapons.  "Why, 
there  's  enough  men  here  to  wipe  out  a  tribe.  I 
reckon  we  '11  stay  an'  see  th'  fun.  Anyhow,  it  '11 
be  a  whole  lot  safer  here  than  fightin'  by  ourselves 
out  in  th'  open  somewhere.     What  you  say?" 

"You  could  n't  drag  me  away  from  this  town 
right  now  with  a  cayuse,"  Jimmy  replied,  gravely 
hanging  the  medicine-bag  around  his  neck  and 
then  stuffing  the  gory  G-string  in  the  folds  of  the 
sUcker  he  carried  strapped  behind  the  cantle  of 
the  saddle.  "We  '11  see  it  out  right  here.  But  I 
do  wish  that  'Pache  owned  a  better  gun  than  this 
thing.  It 's  most  f allin'  apart  an'  ain't  worth 
nothin'." 

Bill  took  it  and  examined  the  rifling  and  the 
breech-block.  He  laughed  as  he  handed  it  back. 
"You  oughta  be  glad  it  was  n't  a  better  gun,  Kid. 
I  don't  reckon  he  could  put  two  in  the  same  place 
at  two  hundred  paces  with  this  thing.  I  ain't 
even  anxious  to  shoot  it  off  on  a  bet." 

[101] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Jimmy  gasped  suddenly  and  grinned  until  the 
safety  of  his  ears  was  threatened.  * 'Would  you 
look  at  Carter?"  he  chuckled,  pointing.  Bill 
turned  and  saw  the  proprietor  of  Carter's  Em- 
porium carrying  water  into  his  store,  and  with  a 
speed  that  would  lead  one  to  infer  that  he  was 
doing  it  on  a  wager.  Emerging  again  he  saw  the 
punchers  looking  at  him  and,  dropping  the 
buckets,  he  wiped  his  face  on  his  sleeve  and  shook 
his  head.  *'I  'm  fillin'  everything,"  he  called. 
"I  reckon  we  better  stand  'em  off  from  my  store 
• — ^th'  walls  are  thicker." 

Bill  smiled  at  the  excuse  and  looked  down  the 
street  at  the  adobe  buildings.  "What  about  th' 
'dobes.  Carter?"  he  asked.  The  walls  of  some 
of  them  were  more  than  two  feet  thick. 

Carter  scowled,  scratched  his  head  and  made  a 
gesture  of  impatience.  "They  ain't  big  enough 
to  hold  us  all,"  he  rephed,  with  triumph.  "This 
here  store  is  th'  best  place.  An',  besides,  it 's  all 
stocked  with  water  an'  grub,  an'  everything." 

Jimmy  nodded.  "Yo 're  right.  Carter;  it's 
th'  best  place."     To  Bill  he  said  in  an  aside. 

[102] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

"He  's  plumb  anxious  to  protect  that  shack,  now 
ain't  her 

Lefty  Dawson  came  sauntering  up.  "Wonder 
if  Carter  '11  let  us  hold  out  in  his  store?" 

"He  '11  pay  you  to,"  laughed  Bill. 

"It 's  loop-holed.  Been  so  since  th'  last  raid," 
explained  Lefty.  "An'  it 's  chock  full  of  grub," 
he  grinned. 

They  heard  Dad's  voice  around  the  corner. 
"Just  like  last  time,"  he  was  saying.  "We 
oughta  put  four  men  in  Dick's  'dobe  acrost  th' 
street.  Then  we'd  have  a  strategy  position. 
You  see — oh,  hullo,"  he  said  as  he  rounded  the 
corner  ahead  of  George  Bruce.  "Who  's  goin' 
on  picket  duty?"  he  demanded. 

Under  the  blazing  sun  a  yeUow  dog  wan- 
dered aimlessly  down  the  deserted  street,  his 
main  interest  in  life  centered  on  his  skin,  which  he 
frequently  sat  down  to  chew.  During  the  brief 
respites  he  lounged  in  the  doors  of  deserted  build- 
ings, frequently  exploring  the  quiet  interiors  for 
food.    Emerging  from  the  "hotel"  he  looked 

[103] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

across  the  street  at  the  Emporium  and  barked 
tentatively  at  the  man  sitting  on  its  flat  roof. 
Wriggling  apologetically,  he  slowly  gained  the 
middle  of  the  street  and  then  sat  down  to  investi- 
gate a  sharp  attack.  A  can  sailed  out  of  the 
open  door  and  a  flurry  of  yellow  streaked  around 
the  corner  of  the  "hotel"  and  vanished. 

In  the  Emporium  grave  men  played  poker  for 
nails,  Bill  Cassidy  having  corralled  all  the  avail- 
able cash  long  before  this,  and  conversed  in  low 
tones.  The  walls,  reinforced  breast  high  by 
boxes,  barrels  and  bags,  were  divided  into  regular 
intervals  by  the  open  loopholes,  each  opening 
further  indicated  by  a  leaning  rifle  or  two  and 
generous  piles  of  cartridges.  Two  tubs  and  half 
a  dozen  buckets  filled  with  water  stood  in  the 
center  of  the  room,  carefully  covered  over  with 
boards  and  wrapping  paper.  Clouds  of  tobacco 
smoke  lay  in  filmy  stratums  in  the  heated  air  and 
drifted  up  the  resin-streaked  sides  of  the  building. 
The  shimmering,  gray  sand  stretched  away  in  a 
glare  of  sunlight  and  seemed  to  writhe  under  the 
heated    air,    while    droning    flies    flitted    lazily 

[104] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

through  the  windows  and  held  caucuses  on  the 
sugar  barrel.  A  shght,  grating  sound  overhead 
caused  several  of  the  more  irritable  or  energetic 
men  to  glance  up  lazily,  grateful  they  were 
not  in  Hank's  place.  It  was  hot  enough  under 
the  roof,  and  they  stretched  ecstatically  as  they 
thought  of  Hank.  Three  days'  vigil  and  anxiety 
had  become  trying  even  to  the  most  stolid. 

John  Carter  fretfully  damned  solitaire  and 
pushed  the  cards  away  to  pick  up  pencil  and 
paper  and  figure  thoughtfully.  This  seemed  to 
furnish  him  with  even  less  amusement,  for  he 
scowled  and  turned  to  watch  the  poker  game. 
*'Huh,"  he  sniffed,  ''playin'  poker  for  nails!  An' 
you  don't  even  own  th'  nails,"  he  grinned  face- 
tiously, and  glanced  around  to  see  if  his  point  was 
taken.  He  suddenly  stiffened  when  he  noticed 
the  man  who  sat  on  his  counter  and  labored 
patiently  and  zealously  with  a  pocket  knife. 
"Hey,  you!"  he  exclaimed  excitedly,  his  wrath 
quickly  aroused.  "Ain't  you  never  had  no  bring- 
in'  up  ?  If  yo  're  so  plumb  sot  on  whittlin',  you 
tackle  that  sugar  barrel!" 

[105] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Jimmy  looked  the  barrel  over  critically  and 
then  regarded  the  peeved  proprietor,  shaking  his 
head  sorrowfully.  "This  here  is  a  better  medjum 
for  the  ex-position  of  my  art,"  he  replied  gravely. 
"An'  as  for  bringin'  up,  lemme  observe  to  these 
gents  here  assembled  that  you  ain't  never  had  no 
artistic  trainin'.  Yore  skimpy  soul  is  dwarfed 
an'  narrowed  by  false  weights  and  dented 
measures.  You  can  look  a  sunset  in  th'  face  an' 
not  see  it  for  countin'  yore  profits."  Carter 
glanced  instinctively  at  the  figures  as  Jimmy  con- 
tinued. "An'  you  can't  see  no  beauty  in  a  daisy's 
grace — ^which  last  is  from  a  book.  I  'm  here 
carvin'  th'  very  image  of  my  cayuse  an'  givin'  you 
a  work  of  art,  free  an'  gratis.  I  'm  timid  an' 
sensitive,  I  am;  an'  I  '11  feel  hurt  if — " 

"Stop  that  noise,"  snorted  a  man  in  the  corner, 
turning  over  to  try  again.  "Sensitive  an'  timid? 
Yes;  as  a  mulel  Shut  up  an'  lemme  get  a  little 
sleep." 

"A-men,"  sighed  a  poker-player.  "An'  let 
him  sleep — ^he  's  a  cussed  nuisance  when  he  's 
awake." 

[106] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

"Two  mules,"  amended  the  dealer.  "Which 
is  worse  than  one,"  he  added  thoughtfully. 

"We  oughta  put  four  men  in  that  'dobe — " 
began  Dad  persistently. 

"An'  will  you  shut  up  about  that  'dobe  an'  yore 
four  men  ?"  snapped  Lefty.  "Can't  you  say 
nothin'  less  'n  it 's  about  that  mud  hut?" 

Jimmy  smiled  maddeningly  at  the  irritated 
crowd.  "As  I  was  sayin'  before  you  all  in- 
terrupted me,  I  '11  feel  hurt — " 

"You  will;  an'  quick !"  snapped  Carter.  "You 
quit  gougin'  that  counter  I" 

Bill  craned  his  neck  to  examine  the  carving, 
and  forthwith  held  out  a  derisively  pointing  fore- 
finger. 

"Cayuse?"  he  inquired  sarcastically.  "Looks 
more  like  th'  map  of  th'  United  States,  with  some 
almost  necessary  parts  missin'.  Your  geography 
musta  been  different  from  mine." 

The  artist  smiled  brightly.  "Here  's  a  man 
with  imagination,  th'  emancipator  of  thought. 
It 's  crude  an'  untrained,  but  it 's  there.  Imag- 
ination is  a  hopeful  sign,  for  it  is  only  given  to 

[107] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

human  bein's.  From  this  we  surmise  an'  must 
conclude  that  Bill  is  human." 

"Will  somebody  be  liar  enough  to  say  th'  same 
of  you?"  politely  inquired  the  dealer. 

*'Will  you  fools  shut  up?"  demanded  the  man 
who  would  sleep.  He  had  been  on  guard  half 
the  night. 

**But  you  oughta  label  it,  Jimmy,"  said  Bill. 
"You  've  got  California  bulgin'  too  high  up,  an' 
Florida  sticks  out  th'  wrong  way.  Th'  Great 
Lakes  is  all  wrong — ^looks  hke  a  kidney  slippin' 
off  of  Canada.     An'  where 's  Texas?" 

"Huh!  It  'd  have  to  be  a  cow  to  show  Texas," 
grinned  Dad  Johnson,  who,  it  appeared,  also  had 
an  imagination  and  wanted  people  to  know  it. 

"You  cuttin'  in  on  this  teet-a-teet?"  demanded 
Jimmy,  dodging  the  compliments  of  the  sleepy 
individual. 

"As  a  map  it  is  no  good,"  decided  Bill  de- 
cisively. 

"It  is  no  map,"  retorted  Jimmy.  "I  know 
where  California  bulges  an'  how  Florida  sticks 
out.     What  you  call  CaUfornia  is  th'  south  end 

[108] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

of  th'  cayuse,  above  which  I  'm  goin'  to  put  th' 
tail—" 

"Not  if  I'm  man  enough,  you  ain't!"  inter- 
posed Carter,  with  no  regard  for  politeness. 

*' — where  I  'm  goin'  to  put  th'  tail,"  repeated 
Jimmy.  "Florida  is  one  front  laig  raised  off  th' 
ground — " 

"Trick  cayuse,  by  Scott!"  grunted  George 
Bruce.     "No  wonder  it  looks  like  a  map." 

"Th'  Great  Lakes  is  th'  saddle,  an'  Maine  is 
where  th'  mane  goes — Ouchr 

"Mangy  pun,"  grinned  Bill, 

"Kentucky  ought  to  be  under  th'  saddle," 
laughed  Dad,  smacking  his  lips.  "Pass  th'  bot- 
tle, John." 

"You  take  too  much  an'  we'll  all  be  lU-o'- 
noise,"  said  Charley  Logan  alertly. 

"Them  Injuns  can't  come  too  soon  to  suit  me/^ 
growled  Fred  Thomas.  "Who  started  this,  any- 
how?" 

The  sleepy  man  arose  on  one  elbow,  his  eyes 
glinting.  "After  th'  fight,  you  ask  me  th'  same 
thing!    Th'  answer  will  be  ME!"  he  snapped, 

[109] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"I  'm  goin'  to  clean  house  in  about  two  minutes, 
an'  fire  you  all  out  in  th'  street!" 

Jimmy  smiled  down  at  him.  **Well,  you 
needn't  be  so  sweepin'  an'  extensive  in  yore 
eleanin'  operations,"  he  retorted.  "All  you  gotta 
do  is  go  outside  an'  roll  in  th'  dust  like  a  chicken." 

The  crowd  roared  its  appreciation  and  the 
sleepy  individual  turned  over  again,  growling 
sweeping  opinions. 

"But  if  them  Injuns  are  comin'  I  shore  wish 
they  'd  hurry  up  an'  do  it,"  asserted  Dad.  "I 
ought  to  'a'  been  home  three  days  ago." 

"Wish  to  G — d  you  was !''  came  from  the  floor. 

Bill  tossed  away  his  half -smoked  cigarette, 
Carter  promptly  plunging  into  the  sugar  bar- 
rel after  it.  "They  ain't  comin',"  Bill  as- 
serted. "Every  time  some  drunk  Injun  gets  in 
a  fight  or  beats  his  squaw  th'  rumor  starts.  An' 
by  th'  time  it  gets  to  us  it  says  that  all  th'  Apaches 
are  out  follerin'  old  Geronimo  on  th'  war  trail. 
He  can  be  more  places  at  once  than  anybody  I 
ever  heard  of.  I  'm  ridin'  on  tomorrow  morn- 
ing, 'Paches  or  no  'Paches." 

[110] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Jimmy,  glancing  at  Car- 
ter. "I  '11  have  this  here  carving  all  done  by- 
then." 

There  was  a  sudden  scrambling  and  thumping 
overhead  and  hot  exclamations  zephyred  down 
to  them.  Carter  dashed  to  the  door,  while  the 
others  reached  for  rifles  and  began  to  take  up 
positions. 

"See  'em,  Hank?"  cried  Carter  anxiously. 

"See  what?"  came  a  growl  from  above. 

"Injuns,  of  course,  you  d — d  fool!" 

"Naw,"  snorted  Hank.  "There  ain't  no  In- 
juns out  at  all,  not  after  Jimmy  got  that  one." 

"Then  what 's  th'  matter?" 

"My  dawg's  lickin'  yore  dawg.  Sic  him, 
Pete  I     Hi,  there !    Don't  you  run !" 

"My  dawg  still  gettin'  licked?"  grinned  Car- 
ter. 

"I  '11  swap  you,"  offered  Hank  promptly. 
"Mine  can  lick  yourn,  anyhow." 

"In  a  race,  mebby." 

"H — ^11"  growled  Hank,  cautiously  separating 
himself  from  a  patch  of  hot  resin  that  had  exuded 

[in] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

generously  from  a  pine  knot.  "I  'm  purty  nigh 
cooked  an'  I  'm  comin'  down,  Injuns  or  no  In- 
juns. If  they  was  comin'  this  way  they'd  'a' 
been  here  long  afore  this." 

**But  that  Pawnee  told  Price  they  was  out," 
objected  Carter.  "Cassidy  heard  th'  same  thing, 
too.  An'  didn't  Jimmy  get  one!"  he  finished 
triumphantly. 

"Th'  Pawnee  was  drunk!"  retorted  Hank,  col- 
lecting splinters  as  he  slipped  a  little  down  the 
roof.  "Great  Mavericks!  This  here  is  awful!" 
He  grabbed  a  protruding  nail  and  checked  him« 
self.  "Price  might  'a'  shot  a  'Pache,  or  he  might 
not.  I  don't  take  him  serious  no  more.  An' 
that  feller  Cassidy  can't  help  what  scared  folks 
tells  him.     Sufferin'  toads,  what  a  roof!" 

Carter  turned  and  looked  back  in  the  store, 
"Jimmy,  you  shore  they  are  out?  An'  will  you 
quit  cuttin'  that  counter !" 

Jimmy  slid  off  the  counter  and  closed  the 
knife.  "That's  what  th'  Pawnee  said.  When 
I  told  you  fellers  about  it,  you  was  so  plumb 
anxious  to  fight,  an'  eager  to  interrupt  an'  ask 

[112] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

fool  questions  that  I  shore  hated  to  spoil  it  all. 
What  that  scout  says  was  that  th'  'Paches  was 
out  raidin'  down  Colby  way,  an'  was  headin' 
south  when  last  re — " 

,  ''Colby r  yelled  Lefty  Dawson,  as  the  others 
stared  foolishly.  ''Colby!  Why,  that 's  three 
hundred  miles  south  of  here!  An'  you  let  us 
make  fools  of  ourselves  for  three  days !  I  '11  bust 
you  open!"  and  he  arose  to  carry  out  his  threat. 
"Where  'd  you  git  them  trophies?"  shouted  Dad 
angrily.  **Them  was  genuine !"  Jimmy  slipped 
through  the  door  as  Dawson  leaped  and  he  fled 
at  top  speed  to  the  corral,  mounted  in  one  bound 
and  dashed  off  a  short  distance.  "Why,  I  got 
them  trophies  in  a  poker  game  from  that  same 
Pawnee  scout,  you  Mosshead !  He  could  n't  play 
th'  game  no  better  'n  you  fellers.  An'  th'  blood 
is  snake's  blood,  fresh  put  on.  You  will  drive 
me  out  of  town,  hey?"  he  jeered,  and,  wheeling, 
forthwith  rode  for  his  life.  Back  in  the  store 
Bill  knocked  aside  the  rifle  barrel  that  Carter 
shoved  through  a  loop  hole.  "A  joke 's  a  joke. 
Carter,"  he  said  sternly.     "You  don't  aim  to 

[113] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

hit  him,  but  you  might,"  and  Carter,  surprised  at 
the  strength  of  the  twist,  grinned,  muttered  some- 
thing and  went  to  the  door  without  his  rifle,  which 
Bill  suddenly  recognized.  It  was  the  weapon 
that  had  made  up  Jimmy's  ^'trophies"! 

"Blame  his  hide!"  spluttered  Lefty,  not  know- 
ing whether  to  shoot  or  laugh.  A  queer  noise 
behind  him  made  him  turn,  a  movement  imitated 
by  the  rest.  They  saw  Bill  rolling  over  and  over 
on  the  floor  in  an  agony  of  mirth.  One  by  one 
the  enraged  garrison  caught  the  infection  and  one 
by  one  lay  down  on  the  floor  and  wept.  Lefty, 
propping  himself  against  the  sugar  barrel, 
swayed  to  and  fro,  senselessly  gasping.  "They 
alius  are  raidin'  down  Colby  way!  Blame  my 
hide,  ohj  blame  my  hide!  Ha-ha-ha!  Ha-ha- 
ha!     They  alius  are  raidin'  down  Colby  way!" 

"Three  days,  an'  Hank  on  th'  roof!"  gurgled 
George  Bruce.     "Three  days,  by  Scott!" 

"Hank  on  th'  roof,"  sobbed  Carter,  "settin' 
on  splinters  an  hot  rosim!  Whee-hee-hee ! 
Three-hee-hee  days  hatchin'  pine  knots  an' 
rosim!" 

[114] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

"Gimme  a  drink!  Gimme  a  drink!"  whis- 
pered Dad,  doubled  up  in  a  corner.  "Gimme  a 
ho-ho-ho!"  he  roared  in  a  fresh  paroxysm  of 
mirth.  "Lefty  an'  George  settin'  up  nights 
watchin'  th*  shadders!     Ho-ho-ho!" 

'  "An'  Carter  boardin'  us  free!"  yelled  Baldy; 
Martin.  "Oh,  my  G — d!  He'll  never  get  over 
it!" 

"Yessir!"  squeaked  Dad.  ''Free;  an'  scared 
we  'd  let  'em  burn  his  store.  'Better  stand  'em 
off  in  my  place,'  he  says.  'It 's  full  of  grub,'  he 
says.     He-he-he !" 

"An'  did  you  see  Hank  squattin'  on  th'  roof 
like  a  horned  toad  waitin'  for  his  dinner?" 
shouted  Dickinson.  "I'm  goin'  to  die!  I'm 
goin'  to  die!"  he  sobbed. 

"No  sich  luck!"  snorted  Hank  belligerently. 
"I  '11  skin  him  alive!    Yessir;  diver 

Carter  paused  in  his  calculations  of  his  loss  in 
food  and  tobacco.  "Better  let  him  alone.  Hank," 
he  warned  earnestly.  "Anyhow,  we  pestered 
him  nigh  to  death  las'  time,  an'  he  's  shore  come 
back  at  us.     Better  let  him  alone!" 

[115] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Up  the  street  Jimmy  stood  beside  his  horse 
and  thumped  and  scratched  the  yellow  dog  until 
its  rolling  eyes  bespoke  a  bliss  unutterable  and 
its  tail  could  not  wag  because  of  sheer  ecstasy. 

*'Purp,"  he  said  gravely,  "never  play  jokes  on 
a  pore  unfortunate  an'  git  careless.  Don't  never 
forget  it.  Last  time  I  was  here  they  abused  me 
shameful.  Now  that  th'  storm  has  busted  an' 
this  is  gettin'  calm-like,  you  an'  me  '11  go  back 
an'  get  a  good  look  at  th'  asylum,"  he  suggested, 
vaulting  into  the  saddle  and  starting  toward  the 
store.  No  invitation  was  needed  because  the 
dog  had  adopted  him  on  the  spot.  And  the  next 
morning,  when  Jimmy  and  Bill,  loaded  with 
poker-gained  wealth,  rode  out  of  town  and 
headed  south,  the  dog  trotted  along  in  the  shadow 
made  by  Jimmy's  horse  and  glanced  up  from 
time  to  time  in  hopeful  expectancy  and  great 
affection. 

A  distant,  flat  pistol  shot  made  them  turn 
around  in  the  saddle  and  look  back.  A  group 
of  the  leading  citizens  of  Sharpsville  stood  in 
front  of  the  Emporium  and  waved  hats  in  one 

[116] 


JIMMY  VISITS  SHARPSVILLE 

last,  and  glad  farewell.  Now  that  Jimmy  had 
left  town,  they  altered  their  sudden  plans  and 
decided  to  continue  to  populate  the  town  of 
Sharpsville. 


[117] 


V 

THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

'  'ip^ID  you  ever  see  a  dog  like  Asylum?"  de- 
1  3  manded  Jimmy,  looking  fondly  at  the 
mongrel  as  they  rode  slowly  the  second  day 
after  leaving  Sharpsville. 

Bill  shook  his  head  emphatically.  "Never, 
nowheres." 

Jimmy  turned  reproachfully.  "Lookit  how 
he  's  foUered  us." 

*Tollered  you!'  hastily  corrected  Bill.  "He 
ought  to.  You  feed  an'  scratch  him,  an'  he  '11 
go  anywhere  for  that.  But  he  's  big,"  he  con- 
ceded. 

"Mostly  wolf-hound,"  guessed  Jimmy, 
proudly. 

"He  looks  like  a  wolf — God  help  it — at  th' 
end  of  a  hard  winter." 

"Well,  he  ain't  yourn!" 

"An'  won't  be,  not  if  I  can  help  it." 

[118] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

"He  ain't  no  good,  is  he?"  sneered  Jimmy. 

"I  wouldn't  say  that,  Kid,"  grunted  Bill. 
"You  know  there  's  good  Injuns;  but  he  looks 
purty  healthy  right  now.  Why  did  n't  you  call 
him  Hank?  They  look— Good  G— d!"  he  ex- 
claimed as  he  glanced  through  an  opening  in  the 
hills.  The  ring  of  ashes  that  had  been  a  corral 
still  smoldered,  and  smoke  arose  fitfully  from  the 
caved-in  roof  of  the  adobe  bunkhouse,  whose 
beams,  weakened  by  fire,  had  fallen  under  their 
heavy  load. 

"Injuns!"  whispered  Jimmy.  "Not  gone 
long,  neither.  Mebby  they  ain't  all — ain't  all — " 
he  faltered,  thinking  of  what  might  lie  under  the 
roof.  Bill,  nodding,  rode  hurriedly  to  the  ruins, 
wheeled  sharply  and  returned,  shaking  his  head 
slowly.  There  was  no  need  to  explain  Apache 
methods  to  his  companion,  and  he  spoke  of  the 
Indians  instead.  "They  split.  About  a  dozen 
in  th'  big  party  an'  about  eight  in  th'  other.  It 
looks  sorta  serious.  Kid." 

Jimmy  nodded.  "I  reckon  so.  An'  they  're 
usually    where    nobody    wants    'em,    anyhow, 

[119] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Would  n't  Sharpsville  be  disgusted  if  they  went 
north?  But  let 's  get  out  of  here,  'less  you  got 
some  plan  to  bag  a  couple." 

"I  like  you  more  all  th'  time,"  Bill  smiled. 
*'But  I  ain't  got  no  plan,  except  to  move." 

"Now,  if  they  ain't  funny,"  muttered  Jimmy. 
''If  they  only  knowed  what  they  was  runnin' 
into!" 

Bill  turned  in  surprise.  "I  reckon  I  'm  easy, 
but  I  '11  bite:  what  are  they  runnin'  into?" 

"I  don't  mean  th'  Injuns;  I  mean  that  wagon," 
replied  Jimmy,  nodding  to  a  canvas-covered 
"schooner"  on  the  opposite  hill.  "Come  here, 
'Sylum!"  he  thundered.  Bill  wheeled,  and 
smothered  a  curse  when  he  saw  the  woman. 
"Fools!"  he  snarled.  "Don't  let  her  know,"  and 
he  was  galloping  toward  the  newcomers. 

"They  shore  is  innercent,"  soUloquized  Jimmy, 
following.  "Just  like  a  baby  chasin'  a  rattler 
for  to  play  with  it." 

Bill  drew  rein  at  the  wagon  and  removed  his 
sombrero.  "Howd'y,"  he  said.  "Where  you 
headin'  for?"  he  asked  pleasantly. 

[120] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

Tom  French  shifted  the  reins.  "Sharpsville. 
And  where  in — thunder — ^is  it?" 

His  brother  stuck  his  head  out  through  the 
opening  in  the  canvas.     "Yes;  where?" 

"You  see,  we  are  lost,"  explained  the  woman, 
glancing  from  Bill  to  Jimmy,  whose  spectacular 
sliding  stop  was  purely  for  her  benefit,  though 
she  knew  it  not.  "We  left  Logan  four  days  ago 
and  have  been  wandering  about  ever  since." 

"Well,  you  ain't  a-goin'  to  wander  no  more, 
ma'am,"  smiled  Bill.  "We  're  goin'  to  Logan 
an'  we  '11  take  you  as  far  as  th'  Logan-Sharps- 
ville  trail,"  he  said,  wondering  where  it  was. 
"You  must  'a'  crossed  it  without  knowin'  it." 

"Then,  thank  goodness,  everything  is  all  right. 
We  are  very  fortunate  in  having  met  you  gentle- 
men and  we  will  be  very  grateful  to  you,"  she 
smiled. 

"You  bet!"  exclaimed  Tom.  "But  where  is 
Sharpsville?"  he  persisted. 

"Sixty  miles  north,"  replied  Jinmiy,  making 
a  great  effort  to  stop  with  the  reins  what  he  was 
causing  with  his  shielded  spur.     His  horse  could 

[121] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

cavort  beautifully  under  persuasion.  * 'Logan, 
ma'am,"  he  said,  indifferent  to  the  antics  of  his 
horse,  "is  about  thirty  miles  east.  You  must  'a' 
sashayed  some  to  get  only  this  far  in  four  days," 
he  grinned. 

*'And  we  would  be  'sashaying*  yet,  if  I  had  n't 
found  this  trail,"  grunted  Tom.  There  was  a 
sudden  disturbance  behind  his  shoulder  and  the 
canvas  was  opened  wider.  ^'You  found  it!" 
snorted  George.  "You  mean,  I  found  it. 
Leave  it  to  MoUie  if  I  did  n't!  And  I  told  you 
that  you  were  going  wrong.  Didn't  I?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Hush,  George,"  chided  his  sister. 

"But  did  n't  I?  Did  n't  I  say  we  should  have 
followed  that  moth-eaten  road  running — er — 
north?" 

"Did  you?"  shouted  Tom,  turning  savagely. 
"You  told  me  so  many  fool  things  I  couldn't 
pick  out  those  having  a  flicker  of  intelligence 
hovering  around  their  outer  edges.  You  drove 
two  days  out  of  the  four,  did  n't  you?" 

"Tom!"  pleaded  MoUie,  earnestly. 

[122] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

**0h,  let  him  rave,  Sis,"  rejoined  George,  and 
he  turned  to  the  punchers.  "Friends,  I  beg  thee 
to  take  charge  of  this  itinerant  asylum  and  its 
charming  nurse,  for  the  good  of  our  being  and 
the  salvation  of  our  souls.     Amen." 

Tom  found  a  weak  grin.  **Yes,  so  be  it.  We 
place  ourselves  and  guide  under  your  orders, 
though  I  reserve  the  right  to  beat  him  to  a  pleas- 
ing pulp  when  he  gets  sober  enough  to  feel  it. 
At  present  he  reclines  ungracefully  within." 

**You  mean  you  got  a  drunk  guide,  in  there?" 
demanded  Bill  angrily. 

"He  feels  the  yearning  right  away,"  observed 
George.  "We  '11  have  to  take  turns  thrashing 
Bacchus,  I  fear." 

"How  long's  he  been  that  way?"  demanded 
Bill. 

"I  have  n't  known  him  long  enough  to  answer 
that,"  responded  Tom.  "I  doubt  if  he  were  ever 
really  sober.  He  is  a  peripatetic  distillery  and 
I  believe  he  lived  on  blotters  even  as  a  child. 
The  first  day—" 

" — ^hour,"  inserted  George. 

[123] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

" — he  became  anxious  about  the  condition  of 
the  rear  axle  and  examined  it  so  frequently  that 
by  night  he  had  slipped  back  into  the  Stone  Age 
—he  was  ossified  and  petrified.  He  could 
neither  see,  eat  nor  talk.  Strange  creatures  peo- 
pled his  imagination.  He  shot  at  one  before  we 
could  get  his  gun  away  from  him,  and  it  was  our 
best  skillet.  How  the  devil  he  could  hit  it  is  more 
than  I  know.  At  this  moment  he  may  be  flee- 
ing from  green  tigers." 

"Beg  pardon,"  murmured  George.  "At  this 
moment  I  have  my  foot  on  his  large,  unwashed 
face." 

"Why,  George!  You'll  hurt  him!"  gasped 
MoUie. 

"No  such  luck.     He  's  beyond  feeling." 

"But  you  will!     It  isn't  right  to—" 

"Don't  bother  your  head  about  him.  Sis,"  in- 
terrupted Tom,  savagely. 

"Sure,"  grinned  George.  "Save  your  sym- 
pathy until  he  gets  sober.  He'll  need  some 
then." 

"Now,  George,  there  is  no  use  of  having  an 

[124] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

argument,"  she  retorted,  turning  to  face  him. 
And  as  she  turned  Bill  took  quick  advantage. 
One  finger  slipped  around  his  scalp  and  ended  in 
a  jerky,  lifting  motion  that  was  horribly  sugges- 
tive. His  other  hand  and  arm  swept  back  and 
around,  the  gesture  taking  in  the  hills ;  and  at  the 
same  time  he  nodded  emphatically  toward  the 
rear  of  the  wagon,  where  Jimmy  was  slowly  go- 
ing. Across  the  faces  of  the  brothers  there 
flashed  in  quick  succession  mystification,  appre- 
hensive doubt,  fear  and  again  doubt.  But  a  sud- 
den backward  jerk  of  Bill's  head  made  them 
glance  at  the  ruined  'dobe  and  the  doubt  melted 
into  fear,  and  remained.  George  was  the  first  to 
reply  and  he  spoke  to  his  sister.  "As  long  as 
you  fear  for  his  facial  beauty,  Sis,  I  '11  look  for 
a  better  place  for  my  foot,"  and  he  disappeared 
behind  the  drooping  canvas.  Jimmy's  words 
were  powerful,  if  terse,  and  George  returned  to 
the  seat  a  very  thoughtful  man.  He  took  in- 
stant advantage  of  his  sister's  conversation  with 
Bill  and  whispered  hurriedly  into  his  brother's 
ear.     A  faint  furrow  showed  momentarily  on 

[125] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Tom's  forehead,  but  swiftly  disappeared,  and  he 
eahnly  filled  his  pipe  as  he  replied.  *'0h,  he  '11 
sober  up,"  he  said.  *'We  poured  the  last  of  it 
out.  And  I  have  a  great  deal  of  confidence  in 
these  two  gentlemen." 

Bill  smiled  as  he  answered  MoUie's  question. 
"Yes,  we  did  have  a  bad  fire,"  he  said.  "It 
plumb  burned  us  out,  ma'am." 

"But  how  did  it  happen?"  she  insisted. 

"Yes,  yes;  how  did  it  happen — I  mean  it  hap- 
pened like  this,  ma'am,"  he  floundered.  "You 
see,  I — ^that  is,  we — we  had  some  trouble, 
ma'am." 

"So  I  surmised,"  she  pleasantly  replied.  "I 
presume  it  was  a  fire,  was  it  not  ?" 

Bill  squirmed  at  the  sarcasm  and  hesitated,  but 
he  was  saved  by  Jimmy,  who  turned  the  comer 
of  the  wagon  and  swung  into  the  breach  ^vith 
promptness  and  assurance.  "We  fired  a  Greaser 
yesterday,"  he  explained.  "An'  last  night  th' 
Greaser  slipped  back  an'  fired  us.  He  got  away, 
this  time,  ma'am;  but  we're  shore  comin'  back 
for  him,  all  right." 

[126] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

"But  is  n't  he  far  away  by  this  time?"  she  asked 
in  surprise. 

"Greasers,  ma'am,  is  funny  animals.  I  could 
tell  you  lots  of  funny  things  about  'em,  if  I  had 
time.  This  particular  coyote  is  nervy  an' 
graspin',  I  reckon  he  was  a  heap  disappointed 
when  he  found  we  got  out  alive,  an'  I  reckon 
he  's  in  these  hills  waitin'  for  us  to  go  to  Logan 
for  supplies.  When  we  do  he  '11  round  up  th' 
cows  an'  run  'em  off.  Savvy?  I  means,  under- 
stand?" he  hurriedly  explained. 

"But  why  don't  you  hunt  him  now?" 

Jimmy  shook  his  head  hopelessly.  "You  just 
don't  understand  Greasers,  ma'am,"  he  asserted, 
and  looked  around.     "Does  she?"  he  demanded. 

There  was  a  chorus  of  negatives,  and  he  con- 
tinued.    "You  see,  he  's  plannin'  to  steal  our 


cows." 


"That 's  what  he  's  doin',"  cheerfully  assented 
Bill. 

"I  believe  you  said  that  before,"  smiled  Mol- 
lie. 

"Ha,  ha !"  laughed  Bill.     "He  shore  did  I" 

[127] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Yes,  I  did!"  snapped  Jimmy,  glaring  at  him. 

"Then,  for  goodness'  sake,  are  you  going  away 
and  let  him  do  it?"  demanded  Mollie. 

Jimmy  grinned  easily,  and  drawled  effectively. 
"We  're  aimin'  to  stop  him,  ma'am.  You  see," 
he  half  whispered,  whereat  Bill  leaned  forward 
eagerly  to  learn  the  facts.  "He  won't  show  his- 
self  an'  we  can't  track  him  in  th'  hills  without 
gettin'  picked  off  at  long  range.  It  would  be 
us  that  'd  have  to  do  th'  movin',  an'  that  ain't 
healthy  in  rough  country.  So  we  starts  to  Lo- 
gan, but  circles  back  an'  gets  him  when  he  's 
plumb  wrapped  up  in  them  cows  he  's  honin'  for." 

"That 's  it,"  asserted  Bill,  promptly  and 
proudly,  Jimmy  was  the  smoothest  liar  he  had 
ever  listened  to.  "An'  th'  plan  is  all  Jimmy's, 
too,"  he  enthused,  truthfully. 

"Doubtless  it  is  quite  brilliant,"  she  responded, 
"but  I  certainly  wish  I  were  that  'Greaser' I" 

"Sis!"  exploded  George,  "I'm  surprised!" 

"Very  well;  you  may  remain  so,  if  you  wish. 
But  will  someone  tell  me  this:  How  can  these 
gentlemen  take  us  to  Logan  if  they  are  going 

[128] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

only  part  way  and  then  returning  after  that 
dense,  but  lucky,  'Greaser'?" 

"I  should  'a'  told  you,  ma'am,"  replied  Jimmy, 
*'that  th'  Logan-Sharpsville  trail  is  about  half 
way.    We  '11  put  you  on  it  an'  turn  back." 

The  strain  was  telling  on  Bill  and  he  raised 
his  arm.  "Sorry  to  cut  off  this  inter estin'  con- 
versation, but  I  reckon  we  better  move.  Jimmy, 
tie  that  wolf-hound  to  th'  axle — it  won't  make 
him  drunk — an'  then  go  ahead  an'  pick  a  new 
trail  to  Logan.  Keep  north  of  th'  other,  an' 
stay  down  from  sky-lines.  I  '11  foller  back 
a  ways.     Get  a-goin',"  and  he  was  obeyed. 

Jimmy  rode  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  advance, 
unjustly  escaping  the  remarks  that  Mollie 
was  directing  at  him,  her  brothers.  Bill,  the  dog 
and  the  situation  in  general.  A  backward  glance 
as  he  left  the  wagon  apprised  him  that  the  dan- 
gers of  scouting  were  to  be  taken  thankfully. 
He  rode  carelessly  up  the  side  of  a  hill  and 
glanced  over  the  top,  ducked  quickly  and  backed 
down  with  undignified  haste.  He  fervently  en- 
dorsed Bill's  wisdom  in  taking  a  different  route 

[129] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

to  Logan,  for  the  Apaches  certainly  would  strike 
the  other  trail  and  follow  hard;  and  to  have  run 
into  them  would  have  been  disastrous.  He  ap- 
proached the  wagon  leisurely,  swept  off  his  som- 
brero and  grinned.  * 'Reckon  you  could  hit  any 
game?"  he  inquired.  The  brothers  nodded 
glumly.  "Well,  get  yore  guns  handy."  There 
was  really  no  need  for  the  order.  "There  's  lots 
of  it,  an'  fresh  meat  '11  come  in  good.  Don't 
shoot  till  I  says  so,"  he  warned,  earnestly, 

"O.  K.,  Hawkeye,"  replied  Tom  coolly. 

"We  '11  wait  for  the  whites  of  their  eyes,  a  la 
Bunker  Hillf'  replied  George,  uneasily,  "before 
we  wipe  out  the  game  of  this  large  section  of 
God's  accusing  and  forgotten  wilderness.  Any 
hig  game  loose?" 

Jimmy  nodded  emphatically.  "You  bet!  I 
just  saw  a  bunch  of  copperhead  snakes  that  'd 
give  you  chills."  The  tones  were  very  suggestive 
and  George  stroked  his  rifle  nervously  and  felt 
little  drops  of  cold  water  trickle  from  his  arm- 
pits. Mollie  instinctively  drew  her  skirts  tighter 
around  her  and  placed  her  feet  on  the  edge  of 

[ISO] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

the  wagon  box  under  the  seat.  **They  can't 
climb  into  the  wagon,  can  they?"  she  asked  ap- 
prehensively. 

**0h,  no,  ma'am,"  reassured  Jimmy.  "Any- 
how, th'  dog  will  keep  them  away."  He  turned 
to  the  brothers.  "I  ain't  shore  about  th'  way,  so 
I  'm  goin'  to  see  Bill.  Wait  till  I  come  back," 
ahd  he  was  gone.  Tom  gripped  the  reins  more 
firmly  and  waited.  Nothing  short  of  an  earth- 
quake would  move  that  wagon  until  he  had  been 
told  to  drive  on.  George  searched  the  surround- 
ing country  with  anxious  eyes  while  his  sister 
gazed  fascinatedly  at  the  ground  close  to  the 
wagon.  She  suddenly  had  remembered  that  the 
dog  was  tied. 

Bill  drummed  past,  waving  his  arm,  and  swept 
out  of  sight  around  a  bend,  the  wagon  lurching 
and  rocking  after  him.  Out  of  the  little  valley 
and  across  a  rocky  plateau,  down  into  an  arroyo 
and  up  its  steep,  further  bank  went  the  wagon 
at  an  angle  that  forced  a  scream  from  MoUie. 
The  dog,  having  broken  loose,  ran  with  it,  eyeing 
it  suspiciously  from  time  to  time.     Jeff  Purdy, 

[181] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

the  oblivious  guide,  slid  swiftly  from  the  front  of 
the  wagon  box  and  stopped  suddenly  with  a 
thump  against  the  tailboard.  George,  playing 
rear  guard,  managed  to  hold  on  and  then  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  sat  upon  the  guide  and  jammed  his 
feet  against  the  corners  of  the  box. 

"So  he — went  back  for — ^his  friend  to — find 
the  way!"  gasped  MoUie  in  jerks.  "What  a  pity 
— he  did — it.  I  could — do  better  myself.  I  'm 
being  jolted — into  a  thousand — pieces!"  Her 
hair,  loosening  more  with  each  jolt,  uncoiled  and 
streamed  behind  her  in  a  glorious  flame  of  gold. 
Suddenly  the  wagon  stopped  so  quickly  that  she 
gasped  in  dismay  and  almost  left  the  seat.  Then 
she  screamed  and  jumped  for  the  dashboard. 
But  it  was  only  Mr.  Purdy  sliding  back  again. 

Before  them  was  the  perpendicular  wall  of  a 
mesa  and  another  lay  several  hundred  yards 
away.  Bill,  careful  of  where  he  walked,  led  the 
horses  past  a  bowlder  until  the  seat  was  even  with 
it.  "Step  on  nothing  but  rock,"  he  quietly 
ordered,  and  had  lifted  MoUie  in  his  arms  before 
she  knew  it.    Despite  her  protests  he  swiftly 

[132] 


'It's  Injuns,  close  after  us" 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

carried  her  to  the  wall  and  then  slowly  up  its 
scored  face  to  a  ledge  that  lay  half  way  to  the 
top.  Back  of  the  ledge  was  a  horizontal  fissure 
that  was  almost  screened  from  the  sight  of  any- 
one below.  Gaining  the  cave,  he  lowered 
her  gently  to  the  floor  and  stood  up.  *'Do  not 
move,"  he  ordered. 

Her  face  was  crimson,  streaked  with  white 
lahes  of  anger  and  her  eyes  snapped.  "What 
does  this  mean?"  she  demanded. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  considering. 
"Ma'am,  I  was  n't  goin'  to  tell  you  till  I  had  to. 
But  it  don't  make  no  difference  now.  It's 
Injuns,  close  after  us.    Don't  show  yoreself." 

She  regarded  him  calmly.  "I  beg  your  pardon 
— if  I  had  only  known — is  there  great  danger?" 

He  nodded.  "If  you  show  yoreself.  There  's 
alius  danger  with  Injuns,  ma'am." 

She  pushed  the  hair  back  from  her  face.  "My 
brothers  ?    Are  they  coming  up  ?" 

Her  courage  set  him  afire  with  rage  for  the 
Apaches,  but  he  replied  calmly.  "Yes.  Mebby 
th'  Injuns  won't  know  yo  're  here,  Ma'am.    Me 

[153] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

an'  Jimmy  '11  try  to  lead  'em  past.  Just  lay  low 
an'  don't  make  no  noise." 

Her  eyes  glowed  suddenly  as  she  realized  what 
he  would  try  to  do.  **But  yourself,  and  Jimmy? 
Would  n't  it  be  better  to  stay  up  here?" 

"Yo  're  a  thoroughbred,  ma'am,"  he  replied  in 
a  low  voice.  "Me  an'  Jimmy  has  staked  our  lives 
more  'n  onct  out  of  pure  devilment,  with  nothin' 
to  gain.  I  reckon  we  got  a  reason  this  time,  th' 
best  we  ever  had.  I  'm  most  proud,  ma'am,  to 
play  my  cards  as  I  get  them."  He  bent  swiftly 
and  touched  her  head,  and  was  gone. 

Meeting  the  brothers  as  they  toiled  up  with 
supplies,  he  gave  them  a  few  terse  orders  and 
went  on.  Taking  a  handful  of  sand  from  behind 
a  bowlder  and  scattering  it  with  judicious  care, 
he  climbed  to  the  wagon  seat  and  waited,  glancing 
back  at  the  faint  line  that  marked  the  arroyo's 
rim.  In  a  few  minutes  a  figure  popped  over  it 
and  whirled  toward  him  in  a  high-flung,  swirling 
cloud  of  dust.  Overtaking  the  lurching  wagon, 
Jimmy  shouted  a  query  and  kept  on,  his  pony 
picking  its  way  with  the  agility  and  certainty  of 

[134] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOI.S 

a  mountain  cat.  The  wagon,  lurching  this  way 
and  that,  first  on  the  wheels  of  one  side  and  then 
on  those  of  the  other,  bouncing  and  jumping  at 
such  speed  that  it  was  a  miracle  it  was  not 
smashed  to  splinters,  careened  after  the  hard-rid- 
ing horseman.  A  rifle  bounced  over  the  tail- 
board, followed  swiftly  by  a  box  of  cartridges  and 
an  ebony-backed  mirror,  which  settled  on  its  back 
and  glared  into  the  sky  like  an  angry  Cyclops. 

Mr.  Purdy,  bruised  from  head  to  foot  and 
rapidly  getting  sober,  emitted  language  in  jerks 
and  grabbed  at  the  tailboard  as  the  wagon  box 
dropped  two  feet,  leaving  him  in  the  air.  But  it 
met  him  half  way  and  jolted  him  almost  to  the 
canvas  top.  He  slid  against  the  side  and  then 
jammed  against  the  tailboard  again  and  reached 
for  it  in  desperation.  Another  drop  in  the  trail 
made  him  miss  it,  and  as  the  wagon  arose  again 
like  a  steel  spring  Mr.  Purdy,  wondering  what 
caused  all  the  earthquakes,  arose  on  his  hands  and 
knees  in  the  dust  and  spat  angrily  after  the  ca- 
reening vehicle.  He  scrambled  unsteadily  to  his 
feet  and  shook  eager  fists  after  the  four-wheeled 

[135] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

jumping- jack,  and  gave  the  Recording  Angel 
great  anguish  of  mind  and  writer's  cramp. 
Pausing  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  objects  on  the 
ground,  he  stared  at  them  thoughtfully.  He  had 
seen  many  things  during  the  past  few  days  and 
was  not  to  be  fooled  again.  He  looked  at  the 
sky,  and  back  to  the  rifle.  Then  he  examined 
the  mesa  wall,  and  quickly  looked  back  at  the 
weapon.  It  was  still  there  and  had  not  moved. 
He  closed  his  eyes  and  opened  them  suddenly  and 
grunted.  "Huh,  bet  a  ten  spot  it 's  real."  He 
approached  it  cautiously,  ready  to  pounce  on  it 
if  it  moved,  but  it  did  not  and  he  picked  it  up. 
Seeing  the  cartridges,  he  secured  them  and  then 
gasped  with  fear  at  the  glaring  mirror.  After  a 
moment's  thought  he  grabbed  at  it  and  put  it  in 
his  pocket  just  before  a  sudden,  swirling  cloud 
of  dust  drove  him,  choking  and  gasping,  to  seek 
the  shelter  of  the  bowlders  close  to  the  wall. 
When  he  raised  his  head  again  and  looked  out 
he  caught  sight  of  a  sudden  movement  in 
the  open,  and  promptly  ducked,  and  swore. 
Apaches!     Twelve  of  them! 

[136] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

He  had  seen  strange  things  during  the  last  few 
days,  and  just  because  the  rifle  and  other  objects 
had  turned  out  to  be  real  was  no  reason  that  he 
should  absolutely  trust  his  eyes  in  this  particular 
instance.  There  was  a  limit,  which  in  this  case 
was  Apaches  in  full  war  dress ;  so  he  arose  swag- 
geringly  and  fired  at  the  last,  and  saw  the  third 
from  the  last  slide  limply  from  his  horse.  As 
the  rest  paused  and  half  of  them  wheeled  and 
started  back  he  rubbed  his  eyes  in  amazement, 
damned  himself  for  a  fool  and  sprinted  for 
the  mesa  wall,  up  which  he  climbed  with  the 
frantic  speed  of  fear.  He  was  favored  by 
the  proverbial  luck  of  fools  and  squirmed  over 
a  wide  ledge  without  being  hit.  There  was  but 
one  way  to  get  him  and  he  knew  he  could  pick 
them  off  as  fast  as  they  showed  above  the  rim. 
He  rolled  over  and  a  look  of  mystification  crept 
across  his  face.  Digging  into  his  pockets  to  see 
what  the  bumps  were,  he  produced  the  mirror  and 
a  flask.  The  former  he  placed  carelessly  against 
the  wall  and  the  latter  he  raised  hastily  to  his  lips. 
The  mirror  glared  out  over  the  plain,  its  rays 

[137] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

constantly  interrupted  by  Mr.  Purdy's  cautious 
movements  as  he  settled  himself  more  comfortably 
for  defense. 

A  bullet  screamed  up  the  face  of  the  wall  and 
he  flattened,  intently  watching  the  rim.  Chanc- 
ing to  glance  over  the  plain,  he  noticed  that  the 
wagon  was  still  moving,  but  slowly,  while  far  to 
the  south  two  horsemen  galloped  back  toward  the 
mesa  on  a  wide  circle,  six  Apaches  tearing  to 
intercept  them  before  they  could  gain  cover.  "I 
was  shore  wise  to  leave  th'  schooner,"  he  grinned. 
"I  alius  know  when  to  jump,"  he  said,  and  then 
swung  the  rifle  toward  the  rim  as  a  faint  sound 
reached  his  ears.  Its  smoke  blotted  out  the 
piercing  black  eyes  that  looked  for  an  instant 
over  the  edge  and  found  eternity,  and  Mr.  Purdy 
grinned  when  the  sound  of  impact  floated  up 
from  below.  **They  won't  try  that  no  more,"  he 
grunted,  and  forthwith  dozed  in  a  drunken 
stupor.  A  sober  man  might  have  been  tempted 
to  try  a  shot  over  the  rim,  and  would  have  been 
dead  before  he  could  have  pulled  the  trigger. 
Mr.  Purdy  was  again  favored  by  luck, 

[138] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

Leaving  two  braves  to  watch  him,  the  other 
two  searched  for  a  better  way  up  the  wall. 

The  race  over  the  plain  was  interesting  but  not 
deadly  or  very  dangerous  for  Bill  and  Jimmy. 
Armed  with  Winchesters  and  wornout  Spencer 
carbines  and  not  able  to  get  close  to  the  two 
punchers,  the  Apaches  did  no  harm,  and  suffered 
because  of  Mr.  Cassidy's  use  of  a  new,  long-range 
Sharps.  "You  alius  want  to  keep  Injuns  on 
long  range,  Kid,"  Bill  remarked  as  another  fell 
from  its  horse.     The  shot  was  a  lucky  one,  but 

just  as  effective.     "They  ain't  worth  a  d ^n 

figurin'  windage  an'  th'  drift  of  a  fast-movin' 
target,  'specially  when  it 's  goin'  over  ground  like 
this.  It 's  a  white  man's  weapon,  Jimmy. 
Them  repeaters  ain't  no  good  for  over  five  hun- 
dred; they  don't  use  enough  powder.  An'  I 
reckon  them  Spencers  was  wore  out  long  ago. 
They  ain't  even  shootin'  close."  He  whirled  past 
the  projecting  spur  of  the  mesa  and  leaped  from 
his  horse,  Jimmy  following  quickly.  Three  hun- 
dred yards  down  the  canyon  two  Apaches 
showed  themselves  for  a  moment  as  they  squirmed 

[139] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

around  a  projection  high  up  on  the  wall  and  not 
more  than  ten  feet  below  the  ledge.  The  expres- 
sions which  they  carried  into  eternity  were  those 
of  great  surprise.  The  two  who  kept  Mr.  Purdy 
treed  on  his  ledge  saw  their  friends  fall,  and 
squirmed  swiftly  toward  their  horses.  It  could 
only  be  cowpunchers  entering  the  canyon  at  the 
other  end  and  they  preferred  the  company  of 
their  friends  until  they  could  determine  numbers. 
When  half  way  to  the  animals  they  changed  their 
minds  and  crept  toward  the  scene  of  action.  Mr. 
Purdy,  feeling  for  his  flask,  knocked  it  over  the 
ledge  and  looked  over  after  it  in  angry  dismay. 
Then  he  shouted  and  pointed  down.  Bill  and 
Jimmy  stared  for  a  moment,  nodded  emphat- 
ically, and  separated  hastily.  Mr.  Purdy  ducked 
and  hugged  the  ledge  with  renewed  affec- 
tion. Glancing  around,  he  was  almost  blinded 
by  the  mirror  and  threw  it  angrily  into  the  can- 
yon, and  then  rubbed  his  eyes  again.  Far  away 
on  the  plain  was  a  moving  blot  which  he  believed 
to  be  horsemen.  He  fired  his  rifle  into  the  air 
on  a  chance  and  turned  again  to  the  events  taking 

[140] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

place  close  at  hand.  **Other  way,  Hombrel"  he 
warned,  and  Jimmy,  obeying,  came  upon  the 
Apache  from  the  rear,  and  saved  Bill's  life.  At 
hide  and  seek  among  rocks  the  Apache  has  no 
equal,  but  here  they  did  not  have  a  chance  with 
Mr.  Purdy  calUng  the  moves  in  a  language  they 
did  not  well  understand.  A  bird's-eye  view  is  a 
distinct  asset  and  Mr.  Purdy  was  playing  his 
novel  game  with  delighted  interest  and  a  plains- 
man's instinct.  Consumed  with  rage,  the  re- 
maining Indian  whirled  around  and  sent  the 
guide  reeling  against  the  wall  and  then  down  in  a 
limp  heap.  But  Bill  paid  the  debt  and  continued 
to  worm  among  the  rocks. 

There  was  a  sudden  report  to  the  westward  and 
Jimmy  staggered  and  dived  behind  a  bowlder. 
The  other  four,  having  discovered  the  trick  that 
had  been  played  upon  them  on  the  other  side  of 
the  mesa,  were  anxious  to  pay  for  it.  Bill 
hurriedly  crawled  to  Jimmy's  side  as  the  youth 
brushed  the  blood  out  of  his  eyes  and  picked  up 
his  rifle.  "It 's  th'  others,  Kid,"  said  Bill.  "An' 
they  're  gettin'  close.     Don't  move  an  inch,  for 

[141] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

this  is  their  game."  A  roar  above  him  made 
him  glance  upward  and  swear  angrily.  "Now 
they  Ve  gone  an'  done  it !  After  all  we  've  done 
to  hide  'em!"  Another  shot  from  the  ledge  and 
a  hot,  answering  fire  broke  out  from  below.  *'My 
G — d!"  said  a  voice,  weakly.  Bill  shook  his 
head.  ''That  was  Tom,"  he  muttered.  "Come 
on.  Kid,"  he  growled.  "We  got  to  drive  'em  out, 
d — n  it!"  They  were  too  interested  in  picking 
their  way  in  the  direction  of  the  Apaches  to 
glance  at  Mr.  Purdy's  elevated  perch  or  they 
would  have  seen  him  on  his  knees  at  the  very 
edge  making  frantic  motions  with  his  one  good 
arm.  He  was  facing  the  east  and  the  plain. 
Beaming  with  joy,  he  waved  his  arm  toward  Bill 
and  Jimmy,  shouted  instructions  in  a  weak  voice, 
that  barely  carried  to  the  canyon  floor,  and  col- 
lapsed, his  duty  done. 

Bill  was  surprised  fifteen  minutes  later  to  hear 
strange  voices  calling  to  him  from  the  rear  and 
he  turned  like  a  flash,  his  Colt  swinging  first. 
"Well,  I  'm  d — d!"  he  ejaculated.     Four  punch- 

[142] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

ers  were  crawling  toward  him.  *'Glad  to  see 
you,"  he  said,  foolishly. 

"I  reckon  so,"  came  the  smiling  reply.  "That 
lookin'  glass  of  yourn  shore  bothered  us.  We 
could  n't  read  it,  but  we  did  n't  have  to.  Where 
are  they?" 

"Plumb  ahead,  som'ers.  Four  of  'em,"  Bill 
replied.  "There 's  two  tenderfeet  up  on  that 
ledge,  with  their  sister.  We  was  gettin'  plumb 
\i^orried  for  'em." 

"Not  them  as  hired  Whiskey  Jeff  for  to  guide 
'em?"  asked  Dickinson,  the  leader. 

"Th'  same.  But  how  'n  h — 1  did  Logan  ever 
come  to  let  'em  start?"  demanded  Bill,  angrily. 

"We  did  n't  pay  no  attention  to  th'  rumors  that 
has  been  flyin'  around  for  th'  last  two  months. 
Nobody  had  seen  no  signs  of  'em,"  answered  the 
Logan  man.  "We  didn't  reckon  there  was  no 
danger  till  last  night,  when  we  learned  they 
had  n't  showed  up  in  Sharpsville,  nor  been  seen 
anywheres  near  th'  trail.  Then  we  remembers 
Jeff's  habits,  an',  while  we  debates  it,  we  gets 

[143] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

wora  that  th'  Injuns  was  seen  north  of  Cook's 
ranch  yesterday.  We  moves  sudden.  Here 
comes  th'  boys  back — I  reckon  th'  job  's  done. 
They  're  a  fine  crowd,  a'right.  You  should  'a' 
seen  'em  cut  loose  an'  raise  th'  dust  when  we  saw 
that  lookin'  glass  a-winkin'.  We  could  n't  read 
it  none,  but  we  did  n't  have  to.  We  just  cut 
loose." 

**Lookin'  glass!"  exclaimed  Bill,  staring. 
*'That  's  twice  you  've  mentioned  it.  What 
glass?  We  didn't  have  no  lookin'  glass,  no- 
how." 

"Well,  Whiskey  Jeff  had  one,  a'right.  An' 
he  shore  keeps  her  a-talkin',  too.  Ain't  it  a 
cussed  funny  thing  that  a  feller  that 's  got  a  hard- 
boiled  face  like  his'n  would  go  an'  tote  a  lookin' 
glass  around  with  him?  We  never  done  reck- 
oned he  was  that  vain." 

Bill  shook  his  head  and  gave  it  up.  He 
glanced  above  him  at  the  ledge  and  started  for  it 
as  Jimmy  pushed  up  to  him  through  the  little 
crowd.  "Hello,  Kid,"  Bill  smiled.  "Come  on  up 
an'  help  me  get  her  down,"  he  invited.    Jimmy 

[144] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

shook  his  head  and  refused.  "Ah,  what 's  th'  use? 
She  'II  only  gimme  h — I  for  handin'  her  that 
blamed  Greaser  lie,"  he  snapped.  "An'  you  can 
do  it  alone — didn't  you  tote  her  up  th'  cussed 
wall?"  It  had  been  a  long-range  view,  but 
Jimmy  had  seen  it,  just  the  same,  and  resented  it. 

Bill  turned  and  looked  at  him.  "Well,  I  'm 
cussed!"  he  muttered,  and  forthwith  climbed  the 
wall.  A  few  minutes  later  he  stuck  his  head  over 
the  rim  of  the  ledge  and  looked  down  upon  a 
good-natured  crowd  that  lounged  in  the  shadow 
of  the  wall  and  told  each  other  all  about  it. 
Jimmy  was  the  important  center  of  interest  and 
he  was  flushed  with  pride.  It  would  take  a  great 
deal  to  make  him  cut  short  his  hour  of  triumph 
and  take  him  away  from  the  admiring  circle  that 
hedged  him  in  and  listened  intently  to  his  words. 
"Yessir,  by  G — d,"  he  was  saying,  "just  then 
I  looks  over  th'  top  of  a  li'l  hill  an'  what  I  sees 
makes  me  duck  a-plenty.  There  was  a  dozen  of 
'em,  stringin'  south.  I  knowed  they  'd  shore  hit 
that—" 

"Hey,  Kid,"  said  a  humorous  voice  from  above. 

[145] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Jimmy  glanced  up,  vexed  at  the  interruption. 
"Well,  what?"  he  growled.  Bill  grinned  down 
at  him  in  a  manner  that  bid  fair  to  destroy  the 
dignity  that  Jimmy  had  striven  so  hard  to  build 
up.  *'She  says  all  right  for  you.  She  's  done 
let  you  down  easy  for  that  whoppin'  big  Greaser 
lie  you  went  an'  spun  her.  She  wants  to  know 
ain't  you  comin'  up  so  she  can  talk  to  you?  How 
about  it?" 

"Go  on.  Kid,"  urged  a  low  and  friendly  voice 
at  his  elbow. 

"Betcha!"  grinned  another.  "Wish  it  was 
me !     I  done  seen  her  in  Logan," 

Jimmy  loosed  a  throbbing  phrase,  but  obeyed, 
whereat  Bill  withdrew  his  grinning  face  from  the 
sight  of  the  grinning  faces  below.  "He  's  comin' 
ma'am;  but  he's  shore  plumb  bashful."  He 
looked  down  the  canyon  and  laughed.  "There 
they  go  to  get  Purdy  off  'n  his  perch.  I  'm 
natchurally  goin'  to  lick  anybody  as  tries  to  thrash 
that  man,"  he  muttered,  glancing  at  George  as  he 
passed  Jimmy  on  the  ledge.  George  grinned 
and  shook  his  head.     "I  'm  going  to  give  him  the 

[146] 


THE  LUCK  OF  FOOLS 

spree   of   his   sinful,   long   life,"   he   promised, 
thoughtfully. 

Far  to  the  west,  silhouetted  for  a  moment 
against  the  crimson  sunset,  appeared  a  row  of 
mounted  figures.  It  looked  long  and  searchingly 
at  the  mesa  and  slowly  disappeared  from  view. 
Bill  saw  it  and  pointed  it  out  to  Lefty  Dickinson. 
''There  's  th'  other  eight,"  he  said,  smiling  cheer- 
fully. "If  it  was  n't  for  Whiskey  Jeff's  lookin' 
glass  that  eight  'd  mean  a  whole  lot  to  us. 
We  've  had  the  luck  of  fools!" 


[147] 


VI 
HOPALONG'S  HOP 

HAVING  sent  Jimmy  to  the  Bar-20  with  a 
message  for  Buck  Peters  and  seen  the 
tenderfeet  start  for  Sharpsville  on  the  right  trail 
and  under  escort,  Bill  Cassidy  set  out  for  the 
Crazy  M  ranch,  by  the  way  of  Clay  Gulch.  He 
was  to  report  on  the  condition  of  some  cattle  that 
Buck  had  been  offered  cheap  and  he  was  anxious 
to  get  back  to  the  ranch.  It  was  in  the  early 
evening  when  he  reached  Clay  Gulch  and  rode 
slowly  down  the  dusty,  shack-lined  street  in  search 
of  a  hotel.  The  town  and  the  street  were  hardly 
different  from  other  towns  and  streets  that  he 
had  seen  all  over  the  cow-country,  but  neverthe- 
less he  felt  uneasy.  The  air  seemed  to  be  charged 
with  danger,  and  it  caused  him  to  sit  even  more 
erect  in  the  saddle  and  assume  his  habit  of  in- 
different alertness.  The  first  man  he  saw  con- 
firmed the  feeling  by  staring  at  him  insolently 

[148] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

and  sneering  in  a  veiled  way  at  the  low-hung, 
tied-down  holsters  that  graced  BilFs  thighs. 
The  guns  proclaimed  the  gun-man  as  surely  as  it 
would  have  been  proclaimed  by  a  sign;  and  it 
appeared  that  gun-men  were  not  at  that  time  held 
in  high  esteem  by  the  citizens  of  Clay  Gulch. 
Bill  was  growing  fretful  and  peevish  when  the 
man,  with  a  knowing  shake  of  his  head,  turned 
away  and  entered  the  harness  shop.  "Trouble 's 
brewin'  somewheres  around,"  muttered  Bill,  as 
he  went  on.  He  had  singled  out  the  first  of  two 
hotels  when  another  citizen,  turning  the  corner, 
stopped  in  his  tracks  and  looked  Bill  over  with  a 
deliberate  scrutiny  that  left  but  little  to  the  imag- 
ination. He  frowned  and  started  away,  but  Bill 
spurred  forward,  determined  to  make  him  speak. 

''Might  I  inquire  if  this  is  Clay  Gulch?"  he 
asked,  in  tones  that  made  the  other  wince. 

"You  might,"  was  the  reply.  "It  is,"  added 
the  citizen,  "an'  th'  Crazy  M  lays  fifteen  mile 
west."  Having  complied  with  the  requirements 
of  common  politeness  the  citizen  of  Clay  Gulch 
turned  and  walked  into  the  nearest  saloon.    Bill 

[149] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

squinted  after  him  and  shook  his  head  in  in- 
decision. 

*'He  wasn't  guessin',  neither.  He  shore 
knowed  where  I  wants  to  go.  I  reckon  Oleson 
must  'a'  said  he  was  expectin'  me."  He  would 
have  been  somewhat  surprised  had  he  known  that 
Mr.  Oleson,  foreman  of  the  Crazy  M,  had  said 
nothing  to  anyone  about  the  expected  visitor,  and 
that  no  one,  not  even  on  the  ranch,  knew  of  it. 
Mr.  Oleson  was  blessed  with  taciturnity  to  a  re- 
markable degree ;  and  he  had  given  up  expecting 
to  see  anyone  from  Mr.  Peters. 

As  Bill  dismounted  in  front  of  the  "Victoria" 
he  noticed  that  two  men  further  down  the  street 
had  evidently  changed  their  conversation  and 
were  examining  him  with  frank  interest  and  dis- 
cussing him  earnestly.  As  a  matter  of  fact  they 
had  not  changed  the  subject  of  their  conversation, 
but  had  simply  fitted  him  in  the  place  of  a  certain 
unknown.  Before  he  had  arrived  they  discussed 
in  the  abstract;  now  they  could  talk  in  the  con- 
crete. One  of  them  laughed  and  called  softly 
over  his  shoulder,  whereupon  a  third  man  ap- 

[150] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

peared  in  the  door,  wiping  his  lips  with  the  back 
of  a  hairy,  grimy  hand,  and  focused  evil  eyes 
upon  the  innocent  stranger.  He  grunted  con- 
temptuously and,  turning  on  his  heel,  went  back 
to  his  liquid  pleasures.  Bill  covertly  felt  of  his 
clothes  and  stole  a  glance  at  his  horse,  but  could 
see  nothing  wrong.  He  hesitated:  should  he 
saunter  over  for  information  or  wait  until  the 
matter  was  brought  to  his  attention?  A  sound 
inside  the  hotel  made  him  choose  the  latter  course, 
for  his  stomach  threatened  to  become  estranged 
and  it  simply  howled  for  food.  Pushing  open 
the  door  he  dropped  his  saddle  in  a  corner  and 
leaned  against  the  bar. 

"Have  one  with  me  to  get  acquainted?"  he  in- 
vited. "Then  I  '11  eat,  for  I  'm  hungry.  An' 
I  '11  use  one  of  yore  beds  to-night,  too." 

The  man  behind  the  bar  nodded  cheerfully  and 
poured  out  his  drink.  As  he  raised  the  liquor  he 
noticed  Bill's  guns  and  carelessly  let  the  glass 
return  to  the  bar. 

"Sorry,  sir,"  he  said  coldly.  "I  'm  hall  out  of 
grub,  the  fire  's  hout,  hand  the  beds  are  taken. 

[151] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

But  mebby  ' Awley,  down  the  strite,  can  tyke  care 
of  you." 

Bill  was  looking  at  him  with  an  expression  that 
said  much  and  he  slowly  extended  his  arm  and 
pointed  to  the  untasted  liquor. 

"Alius  finish  what  you  start,  English,"  he  said 
slowly  and  clearly.  *'When  a  man  goes  to  take 
a  drink  with  me,  and  suddenly  changes  his  mind, 
why  I  gets  riled.  I  don't  know  what  ails  this 
town,  an'  I  don't  care ;  I  don't  give  a  cuss  about 
yore  grub  an'  your  beds;  but  if  you  don't  drink 
that  liquor  you  poured  out  to  drink,  why  I  '11 
natchurally  shove  it  down  yore  British  throat  so 
cussed  hard  it  '11  strain  yore  neck.     Get  to  it!" 

The  proprietor  glanced  apprehensively  from 
the  glass  to  Bill,  then  on  to  the  business-like  guns 
and  back  to  the  glass,  and  the  liquor  disappeared 
at  a  gulp.  "W'y,"  he  explained,  aggrieved. 
"There  hain't  no  call  for  to  get  riled  hup  like  that, 
strainger.     I  bloody  well  forgot  it." 

"Then  don't  you  go  an'  *bloody  well'  forget 
this :  Th'  next  time  I  drops  in  here  for  grub  an'  a 

[152] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

bed,  you  have  'em  both,  an'  be  plumb  polite  about 
it.     Do  you  get  me?"  he  demanded  icily. 

The  proprietor  stared  at  the  angry  puncher  as 
he  gathered  up  his  saddle  and  rifle  and  started 
for  the  door.  He  turned  to  put  away  the  bottle 
and  the  sound  came  near  being  unfortunate  for 
him.  Bill  leaped  sideways,  turning  while  in  the 
air  and  landed  on  his  feet  like  a  cat,  his  left  hand 
gripping  a  heavy  Colt  that  covered  the  short  ribs 
of  the  frightened  proprietor  before  that  worthy 
could  hardly  realize  the  move. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  growled  Bill,  appearing  to  be 
disappointed.  "I  reckoned  mebby  you  was 
gamblin'  on  a  shore  thing.  I  feels  impelled  to 
offer  you  my  sincere  apology ;  you  ain't  th'  kind 
as  would  even  gamble  on  a  shore  thing.  You  '11 
see  me  again,"  he  promised.  The  sound  of  his 
steps  on  the  porch  ended  in  a  thud  as  he  leaped  to 
the  ground  and  then  he  passed  the  window  lead- 
ing his  horse  and  scowling  darkly.  The  pro- 
prietor mopped  his  head  and  reached  twice  for 
the  glass  before  he  found  it.     "Gawd,  what  a 

[153] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

bloody  'eathen,"  he  grunted.  '' 'E  won*t  be  as 
easy  as  the  lawst  was,  bhme  'im." 

Mr.  Hawley  looked  up  and  frowned,  but  there 
was  something  in  the  suspicious  eyes  that 
searched  his  face  that  made  him  cautious.  Bill 
dropped  his  load  on  the  floor  and  spoke  sharply. 
"I  want  supper  an'  a  bed.  You  ain't  full  up,  an' 
you  ain't  out  of  grub.  So  I  'm  goin'  to  get  'em 
both  right  here.     Yes?" 

"You  shore  called  th'  turn,  stranger,"  replied 
Mr.  Hawley  in  his  Sunday  voice.  "That 's  what 
I  'm  in  business  for.  An'  business  is  shore  dull 
these  days." 

He  wondered  at  the  sudden  smile  that  illumi- 
nated Bill's  face  and  half  guessed  it ;  but  he  said 
nothing  and  went  to  work.  When  Bill  pushed 
back  from  the  table  he  was  more  at  peace  with  the 
world  and  he  treated,  closely  watching  his  com- 
panion. Mr.  Hawley  drank  with  a  show  of 
pleasure  and  forthwith  brought  out  cigars.  He 
seated  himself  beside  his  guest  and  sighed  with 
relief. 

"I  'm  plumb  tired  out,"  he  offered.     "An'  I 

[154] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

ain't  done  much.  You  look  tired,  too.  Come  a 
long  way?" 

"Logan,"  replied  Bill.  "Do  you  know  where 
I  'm  goin'?     An'  why?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Hawley  looked  surprised  and  almost 
answered  the  first  part  of  the  question  correctly 
before  he  thought.  "Well,"  he  grinned,  "if  I 
could  tell  where  strangers  was  goin',  an'  why,  I 
would  n't  never  ask  'em  where  they  come  from. 
lAn'  I  'd  shore  hunt  up  a  li'l  game  of  faro,  you 
bet!" 

Bill  smiled.  "Well,  that  might  be  a  good  idea. 
But,  say,  what  ails  this  town,  anyhow?" 

"What  ails  it?  Hum!  Why,  lack  of  money 
for  one  thing ;  scenery,  for  another ;  wimmin,  for 
another.  Oh,  h — ^1,  I  ain't  got  time  to  tell  you 
what  ails  it.     Why?" 

"Is  there  anything  th'  matter  with  me?" 

"I  don't  know  you  well  enough  for  to  answer 
that  kerrect." 

"Well,  would  you  turn  around  an'  stare  at  me, 
an'  seem  pained  an'  hurt?  Do  I  look  funny? 
Has  anybody  put  a  sign  on  my  back?" 

[155] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

*'You  looks  all  right  to  me.  What 's  th'  mat- 
ter?" 

"Nothin',  yet,"  reflected  Bill  slowly.  **But 
there  will  be,  mebby.  You  was  mentionin'  faro. 
Here  's  a  turn  you  can  call :  somebody  in  this  wart 
of  a  two-by-nothin'  town  is  goin'  to  run  plumb 
into  a  big  surprise.  There  '11  mebby  be  a  loud 
noise  an'  some  smoke  where  it  starts  from;  an'  a 
li'l  round  hole  where  it  stops.  When  th'  curious 
delegation  now  holdin'  forth  on  th'  street  slips  in 
here  after  I  'm  in  bed,  an'  makes  inquiries  about 
me,  you  can  tell  'em  that.  An'  if  Mr. — Mr.  Vic- 
toria drops  in  casual,  tell  him  I  'm  cleanin'  my 
guns.  Now  then,  show  me  where  I  'm  goin'  to 
sleep," 

Mr.  Hawley  very  carefully  led  the  way  into 
the  hall  and  turned  into  a  room  opposite  the  bar. 
"Here  she  is,  stranger,"  he  said,  stepping  back. 
But  Bill  was  out  in  the  hall  listening.  He  looked 
into  the  room  and  felt  oppressed. 

"No  she  ain't,"  he  answered,  backing  his  intu- 
ition. "She  is  upstairs,  where  there  is  a  li'l 
breeze.    By  th'  Lord,"  he  muttered  under  his 

[156] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

breath.  "This  is  some  puzzle."  He  mounted 
the  stairs  shaking  his  head  thoughtfully.  *'It 
shore  is,  it  shore  is." 

The  next  morning  when  Bill  whirled  up  to  the 
Crazy  M  bunkhouse  and  dismounted  before  the 
door  a  puncher  was  emerging.  He  started  to  say 
something,  noticed  Bill's  guns  and  went  on  with- 
out a  word.  Bill  turned  around  and  looked  after 
him  in  amazement.  "Well,  what  th'  devil!"  he 
growled.  Before  he  could  do  anything,  had  he 
wished  to,  Mr.  Oleson  stepped  quickly  from  the 
house,  nodded  and  hurried  toward  the  ranch 
house,  motioning  for  Bill  to  follow.  Entering 
the  house,  the  foreman  of  the  Crazy  M  waited 
impatiently  for  Bill  to  get  inside,  and  then 
hurriedly  closed  the  door. 

"They  Ve  got  onto  it  some  way,"  he  said,  his 
taciturnity  gone;  "but  that  don't  make  no  differ- 
ence if  you  Ve  got  th'  sand.  I  '11  pay  you  one 
hundred  an'  fifty  a  month,  furnish  yore  cayuses 
an'  feed  you.  I  'm  losin'  more  'n  two  hundred 
cows  every  month  an'  can't  get  a  trace  of  th' 
thieves.     Harris,    Marshal   of   Clay   Gulch,   is 

[157] 


TPIE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

stumped,  too.  He  can't  move  without  proof; 
you  can.  Th'  first  man  to  get  is  George  Thomas, 
then  his  brother  Art.  By  that  time  you  '11  know 
how  things  lay.  George  Thomas  is  keepin'  out 
of  Harris'  way.  He  killed  a  man  last  week  over 
in  Tuxedo  an'  Harris  wants  to  take  him  over 
there.  He  '11  not  help  you,  so  don't  ask  him  to." 
Before  Bill  could  reply  or  recover  from  his 
astonishment  Oleson  continued  and  described 
several  men.  "Look  out  for  ambushes.  It  '11  be 
th'  hardest  game  you  ever  went  up  ag'in,  an'  if 
you  ain't  got  th'  sand  to  go  through  with  it, 
say  so." 

Bill  shook  his  head.  "I  got  th'  sand  to  go 
through  with  anythin'  I  starts,  but  I  don't  start 
here.  I  reckon  you  got  th'  wrong  man.  I  come 
up  here  to  look  over  a  herd  for  Buck  Peters ;  an' 
here  you  go  shovin'  wages  like  that  at  me.  When 
I  tells  Buck  what  I  've  been  offered  he  '11  fall 
dead."  He  laughed.  "Now  I  knows  th'  answer 
to  a  lot  of  things. 

"Here,  here!"  he  exclaimed  as  Oleson  began  to 
rave.     "Don't  you  go  an'  get  all  het  up  like  that. 

[158] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

I  reckon  I  can  keep  my  face  shut.  An'  lemme 
observe  in  yore  hat-like  ear  that  if  th'  rest  of  this 
gang  is  like  th'  samples  I  seen  in  town,  a  good 
gun-man  would  shore  be  robbin'  you  to  take  all 
that  money  for  th*  job.  Fifty  a  month,  for  two 
months,  would  be  a-plenty." 

Oleson's  dismay  was  fading,  and  he  accepted 
the  situation  with  a  grim  smile.  "You  don't 
know  them  fellers,"  he  replied.  *'They  're  a  bad 
lot,  an'  won't  stop  at  nothin'." 

"All  right.  Let 's  take  a  look  at  them  cows. 
I  want  to  get  home  soon  as  I  can." 

Oleson  shook  his  head.  "I  gave  you  up,  an' 
when  I  got  a  better  offer  I  let  'em  go.  I  'm  sorry 
you  had  th'  ride  for  nothin',  but  I  could  n't  get 
word  to  you." 

Bill  led  the  way  in  silence  back  to  the  bunk 
house  and  mounted  his  horse.  "All  right,"  he 
nodded.  "I  shore  was  late.  Well,  I  '11  be 
goin'." 

"That  gun-man  is  late,  too,"  said  Oleson. 
"Mebby  he  ain't  comin'.  You  want  th'  job  at 
my  figgers?" 

[159] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Nope.  I  got  a  better  job,  though  it  don't  pay- 
so  much  money.  It 's  steady,  an'  a  hull  lot 
cleaner.  So-long,"  and  Bill  loped  away,  closely 
watched  by  Shorty  Allen  from  the  corral.  And 
after  an  interval.  Shorty  mounted  and  swung  out 
of  the  other  gate  of  the  corral  and  rode  along  the 
bottom  of  an  arroyo  until  he  felt  it  was  safe  to 
follow  Bill's  trail.  When  Shorty  turned  back  he 
was  almost  to  town,  and  he  would  not  have  been 
pleased  had  he  known  that  Bill  knew  of  the  trail- 
ing for  the  last  ten  miles.  Bill  had  doubled  back 
and  was  within  a  hundred  yards  of  Shorty  when 
that  person  turned  ranchward. 

"Huh !  I  must  be  popular,"  grunted  Bill.  "I 
reckon  I  will  stay  in  Clay  Gulch  till  t'morrow 
mornin';  an'  at  the  Victoria,"  he  grinned.  Then 
he  laughed  heartily.  "Victoria!  I  got  a  better 
name  for  it  than  that,  all  right." 

When  he  pulled  up  before  the  Victoria  and 
looked  in  the  proprietor  scowled  at  him,  which 
made  Bill  frown  as  he  went  on  to  Hawley's. 
Putting  his  horse  in  the  corral  he  carried  his  sad- 
dle and  rifle  into  the  barroom  and  looked  around. 

[160] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

There  was  no  one  in  sight,  and  he  smiled.  Put- 
ting the  saddle  and  rifle  back  in  one  corner  under 
the  bar  and  covering  them  with  gunny  sacks  he 
strolled  to  the  Victoria  and  entered  through  the 
rear  door.  The  proprietor  reached  for  his  gun 
but  reconsidered  in  time  and  picked  up  a  glass, 
which  he  polished  with  exaggerated  care.  There 
was  something  about  the  stranger  that  obtruded 
upon  his  peace  of  mind  and  confidence.  He 
would  let  some  one  else  try  the  stranger  out. 

Bill  walked  slowly  forward,  by  force  of  will 
ironing  out  the  humor  in  his  face  and  assuming 
his  sternest  expression.  "I  want  supper  an'  a 
bed,  an'  don't  forget  to  be  plumb  polite,"  he 
rumbled,  sitting  down  by  the  side  of  a  small  table 
in  such  a  manner  that  it  did  not  in  the  least  inter- 
fere with  the  movement  of  his  right  hand.  The 
observing  proprietor  observed  and  gave  strict 
attention  to  the  preparation  of  the  meal.  The 
gun-man,  glancing  around,  slowly  arose  and 
walked  carelessly  to  a  chair  that  had  blank  wall 
behind  it,  and  from  where  he  could  watch  win- 
dows and  doors. 

[161] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

When  the  meal  was  placed  before  him  he 
glanced  up.  "Go  over  there  an'  sit  down,"  he 
ordered,  motioning  to  a  chair  that  stood  close  to 
the  rifle  that  leaned  against  the  wall.  "Loaded?" 
he  demanded.  The  proprietor  could  only  nod. 
"Then  shng  it  acrost  yore  knees  an'  keep  still. 
Well,  start  movin'." 

The  proprietor  walked  as  though  he  were  in  a 
trance  but  when  he  seated  himself  and  reached  for 
the  weapon  a  sudden  flash  of  understanding 
illumined  him  and  caused  cold  sweat  to  bead 
upon  his  wrinkled  brow.  He  put  the  weapon 
down  again,  but  the  noise  made  Bill  look  up. 

"Acrost  yore  laiees,"  growled  the  puncher,  and 
the  proprietor  hastily  obeyed,  but  when  it  touched 
his  legs  he  let  loose  of  it  as  though  it  were  hot. 
He  felt  a  great  awe  steal  through  his  fear,  for 
here  was  a  gun-man  such  as  he  had  read  about. 
This  man  gave  him  all  the  best  of  it  just  to  tempt 
him  to  make  a  break.  The  rifle  had  been  in  his 
hands,  and  while  it  was  there  the  gun-man  was 
calmly  eating  with  both  hands  on  the  table  and 

[162] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

had  not  even  looked  up  until  the  noise  of  the  gun 
made  him! 

"My  Gawd,  'e  must  be  a  wizard  with  'em.  I 
'opes  I  don't  forget!"  With  the  thought  came 
a  great  itching  of  his  kneecap ;  then  his  foot  itched 
so  as  to  make  him  squirm  and  wear  horrible  ex- 
pressions. Bill,  chancing  to  glance  up  carelessly, 
caught  sight  of  the  expressions  and  growled, 
whereupon  they  became  angehc.  Fearing  that 
he  could  no  longer  hold  in  the  laughter  that 
tortured  him,  Bill  arose. 

"Shoulder,  arms!"  he  ordered,  crisply.  The 
gun  went  up  with  trained  precision.  "Been  a 
sojer,"  thought  Bill.  "Carry,  arms!  About, 
face!  To  a  bedroom,  march!''  He  followed, 
holding  his  sides,  and  stopped  before  the  room. 
"This  th'  best?"  he  demanded.  "Well,  it  ain't 
good  enough  for  me.  About,  face!  Forward, 
march!  Column,  left!  Ground,  arms!  Fall 
out."  Tossing  a  coin  on  the  floor  as  payment  for 
the  supper  Bill  turned  sharply  and  went  out  with- 
out even  a  backward  glance. 

[163] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

The  proprietor  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
face  and  walked  unsteadily  to  the  bar,  where  he 
poured  out  a  generous  drink  and  gulped  it  down. 
Peering  out  of  the  door  to  see  if  the  coast  was 
clear,  he  scurried  across  the  street  and  told  his 
troubles  to  the  harness-maker. 

Bill  leaned  weakly  against  Hawley's  and 
laughed  imtil  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 
Pushing  weakly  from  the  building  he  returned 
to  the  Victoria  to  play  another  joke  on  its  pro- 
prietor. Finding  it  vacant  he  slipped  upstairs 
and  hunted  for  a  room  to  suit  him.  The  bed  was 
the  softest  he  had  seen  for  a  long  time  and  it  lured 
him  into  removing  his  boots  and  chaps  and  guns, 
after  he  had  propped  a  chair  against  the  door  as 
a  warning  signal,  and  stretching  out  flat  on  his 
back,  he  prepared  to  enjoy  solid  comfort.  It  was 
not  yet  dark,  and  as  he  was  not  sleepy  he  lay  there 
thinking  over  the  events  of  the  past  twenty-four 
hours,  often  laughing  so  hard  as  to  shake  the  bed. 
What  a  reputation  he  would  have  in  the  morning  1 
The  softness  of  the  bed  got  in  its  work  and  he 
fell  asleep,  for  how  long  he  did  not  know;  but 

[164] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

when  he  awakened  it  was  dark  and  he  heard  voices 
coming  up  from  below.  They  came  from  the 
room  he  had  refused  to  take.  One  expression 
banished  all  thoughts  of  sleep  from  his  mind  and 
he  listened  intently.  "  'Red-headed  Irish  gun- 
man.' Why,  they  means  me!  'Make  him  hop 
into  h — 1.'  I  don't  reckon  I  'd  do  that  for  any- 
body, even  my  friends." 

"I  tried  to  give  'im  this  room,  but  'e  would  n't 
tyke  it"  protested  the  proprietor,  hurriedly. 
"  'E  says  the  bloody  room  was  n't  good  enough 
for  'im,  hand  'e  marches  me  out  hand  makes  off. 
Likely  'e  's  in  'Awley's'' 

"No,  he  ain't,"  growled  a  strange  voice. 
"You  've  gone  an'  bungled  th'  whole  thing." 

"But  I  s'y  I  did  n't,  you  know.  I  tries  to  give 
'im  this  werry  room,  George,  but  'e  would  n't  'ave 
it.  D'y  think  I  wants  'im  running  haround  this 
blooming  town?  'E  's  worse  nor  the  other,  hand 
Gawd  knows  'e  was  bad  enough.  'E  's  a  cold- 
blooded  beggar,  'e  is!'' 

"You  missed  yore  chance,"  grunted  the  other, 
"Wish  I  had  that  gun  you  had." 

[165] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"I  was  wishing  to  Gawd  you  did''  retorted  the 
proprietor.  **It  never  looked  so  bloody  big  be- 
fore, d — n  'is  'ideT 

"Well,  his  cayuse  is  in  Hawley's  corral,"  said 
the  first  speaker.  "If  I  ever  finds  Hawley  kept 
him  under  cover  I  '11  blow  his  head  off.  Come 
on ;  we  '11  get  Harris  first.  He  ought  to  be  get- 
tin'  close  to  town  if  he  got  th'  word  I  sent  over  to 
Tuxedo.  He  won't  let  us  call  him.  He's  a 
man  of  his  word." 

"He  '11  be  here,  all  right.  Fred  an'  Tom  is 
watchin'  his  shack,  an'  we  better  take  th'  other 
end  of  town — there  's  no  tellin'  how  he  '11  come  in 
now,"  suggested  Art  Thomas.  "But  I  wish  I 
knowed  where  that  cussed  gun-man  is." 

As  they  went  out  Bill,  his  chaps  on  and  his 
boots  in  his  hand,  crept  down  the  stairs,  and 
stopped  as  he  neared  the  hall  door.  The  pro- 
prietor was  coming  back.  The  others  were  out- 
side, going  to  their  stations  and  did  not  hear  the 
choking  gasp  that  the  proprietor  made  as  a  pair 
of  strong  hands  reached  out  and  throttled  him. 
When  he  came  to  he  was  lying  face  down  on  a 

[166] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

bed,  gagged  and  bound  by  a  rope  that  cut  into 
his  flesh  with  every  movement.  Bill,  waiting  a 
moment,  slipped  into  the  darkness  and  was  swal- 
lowed up.  He  was  looking  for  Mr.  Harris, 
and  looking  eagerly. 

The  moon  arose  and  bathed  the  dusty  street 
and  its  crude  shacks  in  silver,  cunningly  and 
charitably  hiding  its  ugliness;  and  passed  on  as 
the  skirmishing  rays  of  the  sun  burst  into  the 
sky  in  close  and  eternal  pursuit.  As  the  dawn 
spread  swiftly  and  long,  thin  shadows  sprang 
across  the  sandy  street,  there  arose  from  the  dis- 
sipated darkness  close  to  the  wall  of  a  building 
an  armed  man,  weary  and  slow  from  a  tiresome 
vigil.  Another  emerged  from  behind  a  pile  of 
boards  that  faced  the  marshal's  abode,  while 
down  the  street  another  crept  over  the  edge  of 
a  dried-out  water  course  and  swore  softly  as  he 
stood  up  slowly  to  flex  away  the  stiffness  of 
cramped  limbs.  Of  vain  speculation  he  was 
empty;  he  had  exhausted  all  the  whys  and  hows 
long  before  and  now  only  muttered  discontent- 
edly as  he  reviewed  the  hours  of  fruitless  wait- 

[167] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

ing.  Aiid  he  was  uneasy;  it  was  not  like  Harris 
to  take  a  dare  and  swallow  his  own  threats  with- 
out a  struggle.  He  looked  around  apprehen- 
sively, shrugged  his  shoulders  and  stalked  behind 
the  shacks  across  from  the  two  hotels. 

Another  figure  crept  from  the  protection  of 
Hawley's  corral  like  a  slinking  coyote,  gun  in 
hand  and  nervously  alert.  He  was  just  in  time 
to  escape  the  challenge  that  would  have  been 
hurled  at  him  by  Hawley,  himself,  had  that  gen- 
tleman seen  the  skulker  as  he  grouchily  opened 
one  shutter  and  scowled  sleepily  at  the  kindling 
eastern  sky.  Mr.  Hawley  was  one  of  those  who 
go  to  bed  with  regret  and  get  up  with  remorse, 
and  his  temper  was  always  easily  disturbed  be- 
fore breakfast.  The  skulker,  safe  from  the  re- 
morseful gentleman's  eyes,  and  gun,  kept  close 
to  the  building  as  he  walked  and  was  again  for- 
tunate, for  he  had  passed  when  Mr.  Hawley 
strode  heavily  into  his  kitchen  to  curse  the  cold, 
rusty  stove,  a  rite  he  faithfully  performed  each 
morning.  Across  the  street  George  and  Art 
Thomas  walked  to  meet  each  other  behind  the 

[168] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

row  of  shacks  and  stopped  near  the  harness  shop 
to  hold  a  consultation.  The  subject  was  so  in- 
teresting that  for  a  few  moments  they  were 
oblivious  to  all  else. 

A  man  softly  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  Vic- 
toria and  watched  the  two  across  the  street  with 
an  expression  on  his  face  that  showed  his  smil- 
ing contempt  for  them  and  their  kind.  He  was 
a  small  man,  so  far  as  physical  measurements 
go,  but  he  was  lithe,  sinewy  and  compact.  On 
his  opened  vest,  hanging  slovenly  and  blinking 
in  the  growing  light  as  if  to  prepare  itself  for 
the  blinding  glare  of  midday,  glintecf  a  five- 
pointed  star  of  nickel,  a  lowly  badge  that  every 
rural  community  knows  and  holds  in  an  awe  far 
above  the  metal  or  design.  Swinging  low  on  his 
hip  gleamed  the  ivory  butt  of  a  silver-plated 
Colt,  the  one  weakness  that  his  vanity  seized 
upon.  But  under  the  silver  and  its  engraving, 
above  and  before  the  cracked  and  stained  ivory 
handles,  lay  the  power  of  a  great  force ;  and  un- 
der the  casing  of  the  marshal's  small  body  lay  a 
virile  manhood,  strong  in  courage  and  deter- 

[169] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

mination.  Toby  Harris  watched,  smilingly;  he 
loved  the  dramatic  and  found  keen  enjoyment  in 
the  situation.  Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  he 
saw  a  carelessly  dressed  cowpuncher  slouching 
indolently  along  close  to  the  buildings  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street  with  the  misleading  slug- 
gishness of  a  panther.  The  red  hair,  kissed  by 
the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun  where  it  showed 
beneath  the  soiled  sombrero,  seemed  to  be  a  flam- 
ing warning;  the  half-closed  eyes,  squinting  un- 
der the  brim  of  the  big  hat,  missed  nothing  as 
they  darted  from  point  to  point. 

The  marshal  stepped  silently  to  the  porch  and 
then  on  to  the  ground,  his  back  to  the  rear  of 
the  hot^l,  waiting  to  be  discovered.  He  had 
been  in  sight  perhaps  a  minute.  The  cow- 
puncher  made  a  sudden,  eye-baffling  movement 
and  smoke  whirled  about  his  hips.  Fred,  turn- 
ing the  corner  behind  the  marshal,  dropped  his 
gun  with  a  scream  of  rage  and  pain  and  crashed 
against  the  window  in  sudden  sickness,  his  gun- 
hand  hanging  by  a  tendon  from  his  wrist.     The 

[170] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

marshal  stepped  quickly  forward  at  the  shot  and 
for  an  instant  gazed  deeply  into  the  eyes  of  the 
startled  rustlers.  Then  his  Colt  leaped  out  and 
crashed  a  fraction  of  a  second  before  the  brothers 
fired.  George  Thomas  reeled,  caught  sight  of 
the  puncher  and  fired  by  instinct.  Bill,  leaving 
Harris  to  watch  the  other  side  of  the  street,  was 
watching  the  rear  corner  of  the  Victoria  and 
was  unprepared  for  the  shot.  He  crumpled 
and  dropped  and  then  the  marshal,  enraged, 
ended  the  rustler's  earthly  career  in  a  stream  of 
flame  and  smoke.  Tom,  turning  into  the  street 
further  down,  wheeled  and  dashed  for  his  horse, 
and  Art,  having  leaped  behind  the  harness  shop, 
turned  and  fled  for  his  life.  He  had  nearly 
reached  his  horse  and  was  going  at  top  speed 
with  great  leaps  when  the  prostrate  man  in  the 
street,  raising  on  his  elbow,  emptied  his  gun 
after  him,  the  five  shots  sounding  almost  as  one. 
Art  Thomas  arose  convulsively,  steadied  him- 
self and  managed  to  gain  the  saddle.  Harris 
looked  hastily  down  the  street  and  saw  a  cloud 

[171] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

of  dust  racing  northward,  and  grunted.  "Let 
them  go — they  won't  never  come  back  no  more." 
Running  to  the  cowpuncher  he  raised  him  after 
a  hurried  examination  of  the  wounded  thigh. 
"Hop  along,  Cassidy,"  he  smiled  in  encourage- 
ment. "You  '11  be  a  better  man  with  one  good 
laig  than  th'  whole  gang  was  all  put  together." 

The  puncher  smiled  faintly  as  Hawley,  run- 
ning to  them,  helped  him  toward  his  hotel.  "Th' 
bone  is  plumb  smashed.  I  reckon  I  '11  hop 
along  through  life.  It  '11  be  hop  along,  for  me, 
all  right.  That 's  my  name,  all  right.  Huhl 
Hopalong  Cassidy!  But  I  didn't  hop  into 
h — ^1,  did  I,  Harris?"  he  grinned  bravely. 

And  thus  was  born  a  nickname  that  found 
honor  and  fame  in  the  cow-country — a  name 
that  stood  for  loyalty,  courage  and  most  amaz- 
ing gun-play.  I  have  Red's  word  for  this,  and 
the  endorsement  of  those  who  knew  him  at  the 
time.  And  from  this  on,  up  to  the  time  he  died, 
and  after,  we  will  forsake  "Bill"  and  speak  of  him 
as  Hopalong  Cassidy,  a  cowpuncher  who  lived 

[172] 


HOPALONG'S  HOP 

and  worked  in  the  days  when  the  West  was  wild 
and  rough  and  lawless;  and  who,  like  others, 
through  the  medium  of  the  only  court  at  hand, 
Judge  Colt,  enforced  justice  as  he  believed  it 
should  be  enforced. 


[173] 


VII 
"DEALING  THE  ODD" 

FARO-BANK  IS  an  expensive  game  when 
luck  turns  a  cold  shoulder  on  any  player, 
and  "going  broke"  is  as  easy  as  ruffling  a  deck. 
When  a  man  finds  he  has  two  dollars  left  out  of 
more  than  two  months'  pay  and  that  it  has  taken 
him  less  than  thirty  minutes  to  get  down  to  that 
mark,  he  cannot  be  censored  much  if  he  rails  at 
that  Will-o'-the-wisp,  the  Goddess  of  Luck. 
Put  him  a  good  ten  days'  ride  from  home,  ac- 
quaintances and  money  and  perhaps  he  will  be 
justified  in  adding  heat  in  plenty  to  his  denun- 
ciation. He  had  played  to  win  when  he  should 
have  coppered,  coppered  when  he  should  have 
played  to  win,  he  had  backed  both  ends  against 
the  middle  and  played  the  high  card  as  well — 
but  only  when  his  bets  were  small  did  the  turn 
show  him  what  he  wanted  to  see.  Perhaps  the 
case-keeper  had  hoodooed  him,  for  he  never  did 

[174] 


"DEALING  THE  ODD" 

have  any  luck  at  cards  when  a  tow-headed  man 
had  a  finger  in  the  game. 

Fuming  impotently  at  his  helplessness,  a  man 
limped  across  the  main  street  in  Colby,  con- 
strained and  a  little  awkward  in  his  new  store 
clothes  and  new,  squeaking  boots  that  were 
clumsy  with  stiffness.  The  only  things  on  him 
that  he  could  regard  as  old  and  tried  friends  were 
the  battered  sombrero  and  the  heavy,  walnut- 
handled  Colt's  A5  which  rubbed  comfortably 
with  each  movement  of  his  thigh.  The  weapon, 
to  be  sure,  had  a  ready  cash  value — but  he  could 
not  afford  to  part  with  it.  The  horse  belonged 
to  his  ranch,  and  the  saddle  must  not  be  sold; 
to  part  with  it  would  be  to  lose  his  mark  of  caste 
and  become  a  walking  man,  which  all  good 
punchers  despised. 

"Ten  days  from  home,  knowin'  nobody,  two 
measly  dollars  in  my  pocket,  an'  luck  dead  agin 
me,"  he  growled  with  pugnacious  pessimism. 
"Oh,  I  'm  a  wise  old  bird,  I  am!  A  h — 1  of  a 
wise  bird.  Real  smart  an'  cute  an'  shiny,  a 
cache  of  wisdom,  a  real,  bonyfied  Smart  Aleck 

[175] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

with  a  head  full  of  spavined  brains.  I  copper 
th'  deuce  an'  th'  deuce  wins;  I  play  th'  King  to 
win  for  ten  dollars  when  I  ought  to  copper  it. 
I  lay  two-bits  and  it  comes  right — ten  dollars 
an'  I  see  my  guess  go  loco.  Reckon  I  better 
slip  these  here  twin  bucks  down  in  my  kill-me- 
soon  boots  afore  some  blind  papoose  takes  'em 
away  from  me.  Wiser  'n  Solomon,  I  am;  I  've 
got  old  Caesar  climbin'  a  cactus  for  pleasure  an' 
joy.  S-u-c-k-e-r  is  my  middle  name — an'  I  'm 
busted." 

He  almost  stumbled  over  a  little  tray  of  a 
three-legged  table  on  the  corner  of  the  street  and 
his  face  went  hard  as  he  saw  the  layout.  Three 
halves  of  English  walnut  shells  lay  on  the  faded 
and  soiled  green  cloth  and  a  blackened,  shriveled 
pea  was  still  rolling  from  the  shaking  he  had 
given  the  table.  He  stopped  and  regarded  it 
gravely,  jingling  his  two  dollars  disconsolately. 
"Don't  this  town  do  nothin'  else  besides  gam- 
ble?" he  muttered,  looking  around. 

"Howd'y,  stranger!"  cheerfully  cried  a  man 
who  hastened  up.     "Want  to  see  me  fool  you?" 

[176] 


'DEALING  THE  ODD" 

The  puncher's  anger  was  aroused  to  a  thin, 
licking  flame;  but  it  passed  swiftly  and  a  cold, 
calculating  look  came  into  his  eyes.  He  glanced 
around  swiftly,  trying  to  locate  the  cappers,  but 
they  were  not  to  be  seen,  which  worried  him  a 
little.  He  always  liked  to  have  possible  danger 
where  he  could  keep  an  eye  on  it.  Perhaps  they 
were  eating  or  drinking — ^the  thought  stirred 
him  again  to  anger:  two  dollars  would  not  feed 
him  very  long,  nor  quench  his  thirst. 

"Pick  it  out,  stranger,"  invited  the  proprietor, 
idly  shifting  the  shells.  "It 's  easy  if  yo  're 
right  smart — but  lots  of  folks  just  can't  do  it; 
they  can't  seem  to  get  th'  hang  of  it,  somehow. 
That 's  why  it 's  a  bettin'  proposition.  Here  it 
is,  right  before  yore  eyes!  One  little  pea,  three 
little  shells,  right  here  plumb  in  front  of  yore 
eyes !  Th'  little  pea  hides  under  one  of  th'  little 
shells,  right  in  plain  sight:  But  can  you  tell 
which  one?  That 's  th'  whole  game,  right  there. 
See  how  it's  done?"  and  the  three  little  shells 
moved  swiftly  but  clumsily  and  the  little  pea 
disappeared.     "Now,    then;   where   would  you 

[177] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

say  it  was?"  demanded  the  hopeful  operator, 
genially. 

The  puncher  gripped  his  two  dollars  firmly, 
shifted  his  weight  as  much  as  possible  on  his 
sound  leg,  and  scowled:  he  knew  where  it  was. 
"Do  I  look  like  a  kid?  Do  you  reckon  you 
have  to  coax  like  a  fool  to  get  me  all  primed  up 
to  show  how  re-markably  smart  an'  quick  I 
am?  You  don't;  I  know  how  smart  I  am. 
Say,  you  ain't,  not  by  any  kinda  miracle,  a  blind 
papoose,  are  you?"  he  demanded. 

*'What  you  mean?"  asked  the  other,  smiling 
as  he  waited  for  the  joke.  It  did  not  come,  so 
he  continued.  "Don't  take  no  harm  in  my  fool 
wind-jammin',  stranger.  It 's  in  th'  game. 
It 's  a  habit;  I  've  said  it  so  much  I  just  can't 
help  it  no  more — I  up  an'  says  it  at  a  funeral 
once;  that  is,  part  of  it — th'  first  part.  That 's 
dead  right!  But  I  reckon  I  'm  wastin'  my  time 
— unless  you  happen  to  feel  coltish  an'  hain't 
got  nothin'  to  do  for  an  age.  I  've  been  playin' 
in  hard  luck  th'  last  week  or  so — you  see,  I  ain't 
as  good  as  I  uster  be.     I  ain't  quite  so  quick,  an' 

[178] 


"DEALING  THE  ODD" 

a  little  bit  off  my  quickness  is  a  whole  lot  off  my 
chances.  But  th'  game 's  square — an'  that 's 
a  good  deal  more'n  you  can  say  about  most  of 
'em." 

The  puncher  hesitated,  a  grin  flickering  about 
his  thin  lips  and  a  calm  joy  warming  him  com- 
fortably. He  knew  the  operator.  He  knew 
that  face,  the  peculiar,  crescent-shaped  scar  over 
one  brow,  and  the  big,  blue  eyes  that  years  of 
life  had  not  entirely  robbed  of  their  baby-like 
innocence.  The  past,  sorted  thoroughly  and 
quickly  by  his  memory,  shoved  out  that  face  be- 
fore a  crowd  of  others.  Five  years  is  not  a  long 
time  to  remember  something  unpleasant;  he  had 
reasons  to  remember  that  countenance.  Know- 
ing the  face  he  also  knew  that  the  man  had  been, 
at  one  time,  far  from  "square."  The  associa- 
tions and  means  of  livelihood  during  the  past 
five  years,  judging  from  the  man's  present  oc- 
cupation, had  not  been  the  kind  to  correct  any 
evil  tendency.  He  laid  a  forefinger  on  the  edge 
of  the  tray.  "Start  th'  machinery — I  '11  risk  a 
couple  of  dollars,  anyhow.     That  ain't  much  to 

[179] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

lose.  I  bet  two  dollars  I  can  call  it  right/'  he 
said,  watching  closely. 

He  won,  as  he  knew  he  would;  and  the  result 
told  him  that  the  gambler  had  not  reformed. 
The  dexterous  fingers  sliifting  the  shells  were 
slower  than  others  he  had  seen  operate  and  when 
he  had  won  again  he  stopped,  as  if  to  leave. 
*'When  I  hit  town  a  short  time  ago  I  didn't 
know  I  'd  be  so  lucky.  I  went  an'  drawed  two 
months'  pay  when  I  left  th'  ranch :  I  shore  don't 
need  it.  Shuffle  'em  again — it 's  yore  money, 
anyhow,"  he  laughed.  "You  should  'a'  quit  th' 
game  before  you  got  so  slow." 

"Goin'  back  to  work  purty  soon?"  queried  the 
shell-man,  wondering  how  much  this  "sucker" 
had  left  unspent. 

"Not  me!  I've  only  just  had  a  couple  of 
drinks  since  I  hit  town — an'  I  'm  due  to  cele- 
brate." 

The  other's  face  gave  no  hint  of  his  thoughts, 
which  were  that  the  fool  before  him  had  about  a 
hundred  dollars  on  his  person.  "Well,  luck's 
with  you  today^ — ^you  've  called  it  right  twice. 

[180] 


^'DEALING  THE  ODD" 

I  '11  bet  you  a  cool  hundred  that  you  can't  call 
it  th'  third  time.  It 's  th'  quickness  of  my  hands 
agin  yore  eyes — an'  you  can't  beat  me  three 
straight.  Make  it  a  hundred?  I  hate  to  play 
all  day." 

"I  '11  lay  you  my  winnin's  an'  have  some  more 
of  yore  money,"  replied  the  puncher,  feverishly. 
"Ain't  scared,  are  you?" 

"Don't  know  what  it  means  to  be  scared," 
laughed  the  other.  "But  I  ain't  got  no  small 
change,  nothin'  but  tens.  Play  a  hundred  an' 
let 's  have  some  real  excitement." 

"Nope;  eight  or  nothin'." 

He  won  again.  "Now,  sixteen  even.  Come 
on;  I  've  got  you  beat." 

"But  what 's  th'  use  of  stringin'  'long  like 
that?"  demanded  the  shell-man. 

"Gimme  a  chance  to  get  my  hand  in,  won't 
you?"  retorted  the  puncher. 

"Well,  all  right,"  replied  the  gambler,  and  he 
lost  the  sixteen. 

"Now  thirty,"  suggested  the  puncher.  "Next 
time  all  I  've  got,  every  red  cent.     Once  more 

[181] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

to  practice — then  every  red,"  he  repeated,  shift- 
ing his  feet  nervously.  **I  '11  clean  you  out  an' 
have  a  real,  genuine  blow-out  on  yore  money. 
Come  on,  I  'm  in  a  hurry." 

*'I  '11  fool  you  this  time,  by  th'  Lord!"  swore 
the  gambler,  angrily.  "You've  got  more  luck 
than  sense.  An'  I  '11  fool  you  next  time,  too. 
Yo  're  quicker  'n  most  men  I  've  run  up  agin, 
but  I  can  beat  you,  shore  as  shootin'.  Th' 
game's  square,  th'  play  fair — ^my  hand  agin 
yore  eye.     Ready?     Then  watch  me!" 

He  swore  luridly  and  shoved  the  money  across 
the  board  to  the  winner,  bewailing  his  slowness 
and  getting  angrier  every  moment.  "Yo  're  th' 
cussedest  man  I  ever  bet  agin!  But  I  '11  get 
you  this  time.  You  can't  guess  right  all  th' 
time,  an'  I  know  it." 

"There  she  is;  sixty-two  bucks,  three  score  an' 
two  simoleons ;  all  I  've  got,  every  cent.  .  Let 's 
see  you  take  it  away  from  me!" 

The  gambler  frowned  and  choked  back  a 
curse.  He  had  risked  sixty  dollars  to  win  two, 
and  the  fact  that  he  had  to  let  this  fool  play 

[182] 


"DEALING  THE  ODD" 

again  with  the  fire  hurt  his  pride.  He  had  no 
fear  for  his  money — he  knew  he  could  win  at 
every  throw — but  to  play  that  long  for  two  dol- 
lars !  And  suppose  the  sucker  had  quit  with  the 
sixty ! 

"Do  you  get  a  dollar  a  month?"  he  demanded, 
sarcastically.  "Well,  I  reckon  you  earn  it,  at 
that.  Thought  you  had  money,  thought  you 
drew  down  two  months'  pay  an'  hain't  had 
nothin'  more  'n  two  drinks  ?  Did  you  go  an' 
lose  it  on  th'  way?" 

"Oh,  I  drew  it  a  month  ago,"  replied  the 
sucker,  surprised.  "I  've  only  had  two  drinks 
in  this  town,  which  I  hit  'bout  an  hour  ago.  But 
I  shore  lost  a  wad  playin'  faro-bank  agin  a  tow- 
head.  Come  on — lemme  take  sixty  more  of 
yore  money,  anyhow." 

'' Sixty-two !''  snapped  the  proprietor,  deter- 
mined to  have  those  two  miserable  dollars  and 
break  the  sucker  for  revenge.  "Every  cent,  you 
remember." 

^'All  right;  I  don't  care!  I  ain't  no  tin-horn," 
grumbled  the  other.     "Think  I  care  'bout  two 

[183] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

dollars?"  But  he  appeared  to  be  very  nervous, 
nevertheless. 

"Well,  put  it  on  th'  table." 

"After  you  put  yourn  down." 

"There  it  is.  Now  watch  me  close!"  A 
gleam  of  joy  flashed  up  in  the  angry  man's  eyes 
as  he  played  with  the  shells.  "Watch  me  close! 
Mebby  it  is,  an'  mebby  it  ain't — th'  game 's 
square,  th'  play 's  fair.  It 's  my  hand  agin  yore 
eye.    Watch  me  close!" 

"Oh,  go  ahead!  I'm  watchin',  all  right. 
Think  I  'd  go  to  sleep  now !" 

The  shifting  hands  stopped,  the  shells  lay 
quiet,  and  the  gambler  gazed  blankly  down  the 
unsympathetic  barrel  of  a  Colt. 

"Now,  Thomas,  old  thimble-rigger,"  crisply 
remarked  the  supposed  sucker  as  he  cautiously 
slid  the  money  off  the  table,  to  be  picked  up 
later  when  conditions  would  be  more  favorable. 
"Th'  little  pea  ain't  under  no  shell.  Stop! 
Step  back  one  pace  an'  elevate  them  paws. 
Don't  make  no  more  funny  motions  with  that 
hand,  savvy?    But  you  can  drop  th'  pea  if  it 

[184] 


"DEALING  THE  ODD" 

hurts  them  two  fingers.  Now  we  *11  see  if  I 
win;  I  alius  like  to  be  shore,"  and  he  cautiously 
turned  over  the  shells,  revealing  nothing  but  the 
dirty  green  cloth.  "I  win;  it  ain't  there — ^just 
hke  I  thought." 

**Who  are  you,  an'  how'd  you  know  my 
name?"  demanded  the  gambler,  mentally  curs- 
ing his  two  missing  cappers.  They  were  drink- 
ing once  too  often  and  things  were  going  to 
happen  in  their  vicinity,  and  very  soon. 

"Why,  you  took  twenty-five  dollars  from  me 
up  in  Alameda  onct,  when  I  could  n't  afford  to 
lose  it,"  grinned  the  puncher.  "I  was  some- 
thing of  a  kid  then.  I  remember  you,  all  right. 
My  foreman  told  me  about  yore  bang-up  fight 
agin  th'  Johnson  brothers,  who  gave  you  that 
scar,  I  thought  then  that  you  were  a  great  man 
— now  I  know  you  ain't.  I  would  n't  'a'  played 
at  all  if  I  had  n't  knowed  how  crooked  you  was. 
Take  yore  layout  an'  yore  crookedness,  find  th' 
pea  an'  yore  cappers,  an'  clear  out.  An'  if  any- 
body asks  you  if  you  've  seen  Hopalong  Cassidy 
you  tell  'em  I  'm  up  here  in  Colby  makin'  some 

[185] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

easy  money  beatin'  crooked  games.     So-long,  an' 
don't  look  back!" 

Hopalong  watched  him  go  and  then  went  to 
the  nearest  place  where  he  could  get  something 
to  eat.  In  due  time,  having  disposed  of  a  square 
meal,  Hopalong  called  for  a  drink  and  a  cigar, 
and  sat  quietly  smoking  for  nearly  half  an  hour, 
so  lost  in  thought  that  liis  cigar  went  out  repeat- 
edly. As  he  reviewed  his  disastrous  play  at  faro 
many  small  details  came  to  him  and  now  he 
found  them  interesting.  The  dealer  was  not  a 
master  at  his  trade  and  Hopalong  had  seen 
many  better ;  in  fact  the  man  was  not  even  second 
class,  and  this  fact  hurt  his  pride.  He  had 
played  a  careful  game,  and  the  great  majority 
of  his  small  bets  had  won — it  was  only  when  he 
risked  twenty  or  thirty  dollars  that  he  lost.  The 
only  big  bet  that  he  had  been  at  all  lucky  on  was 
one  where  doubles  showed  on  the  turn  and  he 
had  been  split,  losing  half  of  his  stake.  But 
when  he  had  played  his  last  fifty  dollars  on  the 
Jack,  open,  the  final  blow  fell  and  he  had  left 
the  table  in  disgust. 

[186] 


"DEALING  THE  ODD'' 

Why  were  n't  there  cue-cards,  so  the  players 
could  keep  their  own  tally  of  the  cards  instead 
of  having  to  depend  on  the  cue-box  kept  by  the 
case-keeper?  This  made  him  suspicious;  a 
crooked  dealer  and  case-keeper  can  trim  a  big 
bet  at  will,  unless  the  players  keep  their  own 
cases  or  are  exceptionally  wise;  and  even  then 
a  really  good  dealer  will  get  away  with  his  play 
nine  times  out  of  ten.  While  he  seldom  played 
a  system,  he  had  backed  one  that  morning;  but 
he  was  cured  of  that  weakness  now.  If  the 
game  were  square  he  figured  he  could  get  at  least 
an  even  break;  if  crooked,  nothing  but  a  gun 
could  beat  it,  and  he  had  a  very  good  gun. 
When  he  thought  of  the  gun,  he  reviewed  the 
arrangement  of  the  room  and  estimated  the 
weight  of  the  rough,  deal  table  on  which  rested 
the  faro  layout.  He  smiled  and  turned  to  the 
bartender.  "Hey,  barkeeper!  Got  any  paper 
an'  a  pencil?" 

After  some  rummaging  the  taciturn  dis- 
penser of  liquid  forget-it  produced  the  articles 
in  question  and  Hopalong,  drawing  some  hur- 

[187] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

ried  lines,  paid  his  bill,  treated,  kept  the  pencil 
and  headed  for  the  faro  game  across  the  street. 

When  he  entered  the  room  the  table  was  de- 
serted and  he  nodded  to  the  dealer  as  he  seated 
himself  at  the  right  of  the  case-keeper,  who  now 
took  his  place,  and  opposite  the  dealer  and  the 
lookout.  He  was  not  surprised  to  find  no  other 
players  in  the  room,  for  the  hour  was  wrong; 
later  in  the  afternoon  there  would  be  many  and 
at  night  the  place  would  be  crowded.  This 
suited  him  perfectly  and  he  settled  himself  to  be- 
gin playing. 

When  the  deck  was  shuffled  and  placed  in  the 
deal  box  Hopalong  put  his  ruled  paper  in  front 
of  him  on  the  table,  tallied  once  against  the  King 
for  the  soda  card  and  started  to  play  quarters 
and  half  dollars.  He  caught  the  fugitive  look 
that  passed  between  the  men  as  they  saw  his 
cue-card  but  he  gave  no  sign  of  having  observed 
it.  After  that  he  never  looked  up  from  the  cards 
while  his  bets  were  small.  Two  deals  did  not 
alter  his  money  much  and  he  knew  that  so  far 
the  game  was  straight.     If  it  were  not  to  re- 

[188] 


"DEALING  THE  ODD" 

main  straight  the  crookedness  would  not  come 
more  than  once  in  a  deal  if  the  frame-up  was 
"single-odd"  and  then  not  until  the  bet  was  large 
enough  to  practically  break  him.  His  high- 
card  play  ran  in  his  favor  and  kept  him  gradu- 
ally drawing  ahead.  He  lost  twice  in  calling 
the  last  turn  and  guessed  it  right  once,  at  four 
to  one,  which  made  him  win  in  that  department 
of  the  game. 

When  the  fifth  deal  began  he  was  quite  a  lit- 
tle ahead  and  his  play  became  bolder,  some  of 
the  bets  going  as  high  as  ten  dollars.  He  broke 
even  and  then  played  heavier  on  the  following 
deal.  His  first  high  bet,  twenty  dollars,  was  on 
the  eight,  open,  only  one  eight  having  shown. 
Double  eights  showed  on  the  next  turn  and  he 
was  split,  losing  half  the  stake. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  look-out  dis- 
covered that  Mr.  Cassidy  was  getting  a  little 
excited  and  several  times  had  nearly  forgotten 
to  keep  his  cases.  This  information  was  cauti- 
ously passed  to  the  dealer  and  case-keeper  and 
from  then  on  they  evinced  a  little  more  interest 

[189] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

in  the  game.  Finally  the  player,  after  studying 
his  cue-card,  placed  fifty  dollars  on  the  Queen, 
open,  and  coppered  the  deuce,  a  case-card,  and 
then  put  ten  more  on  the  high  card.  This  came 
in  the  middle  of  the  game  and  he  was  prepared 
for  trouble  as  the  turn  was  made,  but  fortune 
was  kind  to  him  and  he  raked  in  sixty  dollars. 
He  was  mildly  surprised  that  he  had  won,  but 
explained  it  to  himself  by  thinking  that  the 
stakes  were  not  yet  high  enough.  From  then 
on  he  was  keenly  alert,  for  the  crookedness  would 
come  soon  if  it  ever  did,  but  he  strung  small 
sums  on  the  next  dozen  turns  and  waited  for  a 
new  deal  before  plunging. 

As  the  dealer  shuffled  the  cards  the  door 
opened  and  closed  noisily  and  a  surprised  and 
doubting  voice  exclaimed:  *' Ain't  you  Hop- 
along  Cassidy?     Cassidy,  of  th'  Bar-20?" 

Hopalong  glanced  up  swiftly  and  back  to  the 
cards  again:     "Yes;  what  of  it?" 

"Oh,  nothin'.  I  saw  you  onct  an'  I  won- 
dered if  I  was  right." 

"Ain't  got  time  now;  see  you  later,  mebby. 

[190] 


"DEALING  THE  ODD" 

You  might  stick  around  outside  so  I  can  borrow 
some  money  if  I  go  broke."  The  man  who  knew 
Mr.  Cassidy  silently  faded,  but  did  not  stick 
around,  thereby  proving  that  the  player  knew 
human  nature  and  also  how  to  get  rid  of  a  pest. 

When  the  dealer  heard  the  name  he  glanced 
keenly  at  the  owner  of  it,  exchanged  significant 
looks  with  the  case-keeper  and  faltered  for  an 
instant  as  he  shoved  the  cards  together.  He 
was  not  sure  that  he  had  shuffled  them  right,  and 
an  anxious  look  came  into  his  eyes  as  he  realized 
that  the  deal  must  go  on.  It  was  far  from  re- 
assuring to  set  out  to  cheat  a  man  so  well  known 
for  expert  short-gun  work  as  the  Bar-20  puncher 
and  he  wished  he  could  be  relieved.  There  was 
no  other  dealer  around  at  that  time  of  the  day 
and  he  had  to  go  through  with  it.  He  did  not 
dare  to  shuffle  again  and  chance  losing  the  card 
beyond  hope,  and  for  the  reason  that  the  player 
was  watching  him  like  a  hawk. 

A  ten  lay  face  up  on  the  deck  and  Hopalong, 
tallying  against  it  on  his  sheet,  began  to  play 
small  sums.     Luck  was  variable  and  remained 

[191] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

so  until  the  first  twenty  dollar  bet,  when  he 
reached  out  excitedly  and  raked  in  his  winnings, 
his  coat  sleeve  at  the  same  time  brushing  the  cue- 
card  off  the  table.  But  he  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  tally  sheet  in  his  eagerness  to  win  and 
played  several  more  cards  before  he  noticed  it 
was  missing  and  sought  for  it.  Smothering  a 
curse  he  glanced  at  the  case-keeper's  tally  and 
went  on  with  the  play.  He  did  not  see  the  look 
of  relief  that  showed  momentarily  on  the  faces 
of  the  dealer  and  his  associates,  but  he  guessed 
it. 

He  had  no  use  for  cue-cards  when  he  felt  like 
doing  without  them;  he  liked  to  see  them  in  use 
by  the  players  because  it  showed  the  game  to  be 
more  or  less  straight,  and  it  also  saved  him  from 
over-heating  his  memory.  When  he  had 
brushed  his  tally  sheet  off  the  table  he  knew 
what  he  was  doing,  and  he  knew  every  card  that 
had  been  drawn  out  of  the  box.  So  far  he  had 
seen  no  signs  of  cheating  and  he  wished  to  give 
the  dealer  a  chance.  There  should  now  remain 
in  the  deal  box  three  cards,  a  deuce,  five  and  a 

[192] 


"DEALING  THE  ODD" 

four,  with  a  Queen  in  sight  as  the  last  winner. 
He  knew  this  to  be  true  because  he  had  given  all 
his  attention  to  memorizing  the  cards  as  they 
showed  in  the  deal  box,  and  had  made  his  bets 
small  so  he  would  not  have  to  bother  about  them. 
As  he  had  lost  three  times  on  a  four  he  now  be- 
lieved it  was  due  to  win. 

Taking  all  his  money  he  placed  it  on  the  four: 
"Two  hundred  and  seventy  on  th'  four  to  win," 
he  remarked,  crisply. 

The  dealer  sniffed  almost  inaudibly  and  the 
case-keeper  prepared  to  cover  him  on  the  cue- 
rack  under  cover  of  the  excitement  of  the  turn. 
If  the  four  lay  under  the  Queen,  Cassidy  lost; 
if  not  he  either  won  or  was  in  hock.  The  dealer 
was  unusually  grave  as  he  grasped  the  deal  box 
to  make  the  turn  and  as  the  Queen  slid  off  a  five- 
spot  showed. 

The  dealer's  hand  trembled  as  he  slid  the  five 
off,  showing  a  four,  and  a  winner  for  Hopalong. 
He  went  white — he  had  bungled  the  shuffle  in 
his  indecision  and  now  he  didn't  know  what 
might  develop.     And  in  his  agitation  he  exposed 

[193] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

the  hock  card  before  he  realized  what  he  was  do- 
ing, and  showed  another  five.  He  had  made  the 
mistake  of  showing  the  "odd." 

Hopalong,  ready  for  trouble,  was  more  pre- 
pared than  the  others  and  he  was  well  under  way 
before  they  started.  His  left  hand  swung  hard 
against  the  case-keeper's  jaw,  his  Colt  roared  at 
the  drawing  bartender,  crumpling  the  trouble- 
hunter  into  a  heap  on  the  floor  dazed  from  shock 
of  a  ball  that  "creased"  his  head.  He  had  done 
this  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  his  left  hand, 
dropping  swiftly  to  the  heavy  table,  threw  it 
over  onto  the  lookout  and  the  dealer  at  the  in- 
stant their  hands  found  their  guns.  Caught  off 
their  balance  they  went  down  under  it  and  be- 
fore they  could  move  sufficiently  to  do  any  dam- 
age, Hopalong  vaulted  the  table  and  kicked 
their  guns  out  of  their  hands.  When  they  real- 
ized just  what  had  happened  a  still-smoking  Colt 
covered  them.  Many  of  Hopalong's  most  suc- 
cessful and  spectacular  plays  had  been  less  care- 
fully thought  out  beforehand  than  this  one  and 
he  laughed  sneeringly  as  he  looked  at  the  men 

[194] 


"DEALING  THE  ODD" 

who  had  been  so  greedy  as  to  try  to  clean  him  out 
the  second  time. 

"Get  up!"  he  snarled. 

They  crawled  out  of  their  trap  and  sullenly 
obeyed  his  hand,  backing  against  the  wall.  The 
case-keeper  was  still  unconscious  and  Hopalong, 
disarming  him,  dragged  him  to  the  wall  with  the 
others. 

"I  wondered  where  that  deuce  had  crawled  to," 
Mr.  Cassidy  remarked,  grimly,  "an'  I  was  goin' 
to  see,  only  it 's  plain  now.  I  knowed  you  was 
clumsy,  but  my  G — dl  Any  man  as  can't  deal 
*single-odd'  ought  to  quit  th'  business,  or  play 
straight.  So  you  had  five  fives  agin  me,  eh? 
Instead  of  keepin'  th'  five  under  th'  Queen,  you 
bungled  th'  deuce  in  its  place.  When  you  went 
to  pull  off  th'  Queen  an'  five  like  they  was  one 
card,  you  had  th'  deuce  under  her.  You  see,  I 
keep  cases  in  my  old  red  head  an'  I  did  n't  have 
to  believe  what  th'  cue-rack  was  all  fixed  to  show 
me.  An'  I  was  waitin',  all  ready  for  th'  play 
that  'd  make  me  lose. 

"As  long  as  this  deal  was  framed  up,  we  '11 

[195] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

say  it  was  this  mornin'.  You  cough  up  th'  hun- 
dred an'  ten  I  lost  then,  an'  another  hundred  an' 
ten  that  I  'd  won  if  it  was  n't  crooked.  An' 
don't  forget  that  two-seventy  I  just  pulled  down, 
neither.  Make  it  in  double  eagles  an'  don't  be 
slow  'bout  it.  Money  or  lead — ^with  you  callin' 
th'  turn."  It  was  not  a  very  large  amount  and 
it  took  only  a  moment  to  count  it  out.  The 
eleven  double  eagles  representing  the  mornin's 
play  seemed  to  slide  from  the  dealer's  hand  with 
reluctance — but  a  man  lives  only  once,  and  they 
slid  without  stopping. 

The  winner,  taking  the  money,  picked  up  the 
last  money  he  had  bet  and,  distributing  it  over 
his  person  to  equalize  the  weight,  gathered  up 
the  guns  from  the  floor.  Backing  toward  the 
door  he  noticed  that  the  bartender  moved  and 
a  keen  glance  at  that  unfortunate  assured  him 
that  he  would  live. 

When  he  reached  the  door  he  stopped  a  mo- 
ment to  ask  a  question,  the  tenseness  of  his  ex- 
pression relaxing  into  a  broad,  apologetic  grin. 
"Would  you  mind  tellin'  me  where  I  can  find 

[196] 


"DEALING  THE  ODD'' 

some  more   frame-ups?    I   shore   can  use   th' 
money." 

The  mumbled  replies  mentioned  a  locality  not 
to  be  found  on  any  map  of  the  surface  of  the 
globe,  and  grinning  still  more  broadly,  Mr.  Cas- 
sidy  side-stepped  and  disappeared  to  find  his 
horse  and  go  on  his  way  rejoicing. 


[197] 


VIII 
THE  NORTHER 

JOHNNY  knew  I  had  a  notebook  crammed 
with  the  stories  his  friends  had  told  me; 
but  Johnny,  being  a  wise  youth,  also  knew  that 
there  was  always  room  for  one  more.  Perhaps 
that  explains  his  sarcasm,  for,  as  he  calmly 
turned  his  back  on  his  fuming  friend,  he  winked 
at  me  and  sauntered  oif,  whistling  cheerfully. 

Red  spread  his  feet  apart,  jammed  his  fists 
against  his  thighs  and  stared  after  the  youngster. 
His  expression  was  a  study  and  his  open  mouth 
struggled  for  a  retort,  but  in  vain.  After  a 
moment  he  shook  his  head  and  slowly  turned  to 
me.  "Hear  th'  fool?  He  's  from  Idyho,  he  is. 
It  never  gets  cold  nowhere  else  on  earth.  Ain't 
it  terrible  to  be  so  ignorant?"  He  glanced  at 
the  bunkhouse,  into  which  Johnny  had  gone  for 
dry  clothing.  "So  I  ain't  never  seen  no  cold 
weather?"   he   mused   thoughtfully.     Snapping 

[198] 


THE  NORTHER 

his  fingers  irritably,  he  wheeled  toward  the  cor- 
ral. "I  'm  goin'  down  to  look  at  th'  dam — 
there  's  been  lots  of  water  leanin'  ag'in  it  th'  last 
week.  Throw  th'  leather  on  Saint,  if  you  wants, 
an'  come  along.  I  '11  tell  you  about  some  cold 
weather  that  had  th'  Idyho  brand  faded.  Cold 
weather  1     Huh!" 

As  he  swung  past  the  bunkhouse  we  saw 
Johnny  and  Billy  Jordan  leaning  in  the  door- 
way ragging  each  other,  as  cubs  will.  Johnny 
grinned  at  Red  and  executed  a  one-hand  phrase 
of  the  sign  language  that  is  universally  known, 
which  Red  returned  with  a  chuckle.  "Wish  he  'd 
been  here  th'  time  God  took  a  hand  in  a  big  game 
on  this  ranch,"  he  said.  "I  'm  minus  two  toes 
on  each  foot  in  consequence  thereof.  They  can't 
scare  me  none  by  preachin'  a  red-hot  hell.  No, 
sir;  not  any." 

He  was  silent  a  moment.  *'Mebby  it  ain't 
so  bad  when  a  feller  is  used  to  it;  but  we  ain't. 
An'  it  frequent  hits  us  goin'  over  th'  fence, 
with  both  feet  off  th'  ground.  Anyhow,  that 
Norther  was  n't  no  storm — it  was  th'  attendant 

[199] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

agitation  caused  by  th'  North  Pole  visitin'  th' 
Gulf. 

"Cowan  had  just  put  Buckskin  on  th'  map 
by  buildin'  th'  first  shack.  John  Bartlett  an' 
Shorty  Jones,  d — n  him,  was  startin'  th'  Double 
Arrow  with  two  hundred  head.  When  th' 
aforementioned  agitation  was  over  they  had 
less  'n  one  hundred.  We  lost  a  lot  of  cows,  too ; 
but  our  range  is  sheltered  good,  an'  that  rock 
wall  down  past  Meeker's  bunkhouse  stopped  our 
drifts,  though  lots  of  th'  cows  died  there. 

**We  'd  had  a  mild  winter  for  two  weeks,  an' 
a  lot  of  rain.  We  was  chirpin'  like  li'l  fool  birds 
about  winter  bein'  over.  Ever  notice  how  many 
times  winter  is  over  before  it  is?  But  Buck 
did  n't  think  so ;  an'  he  shore  can  smell  weather. 
We  was  also  discussin'  a  certain  campin'  party 
Jimmy  had  discovered  across  th'  river.  Jimmy 
was  at  th'  bunkhouse  that  shift  an'  he  was  a  great 
hand  for  snoopin'  around  kickin'  up  trouble. 
He  reports  there 's  twelve  in  th'  party  an' 
they  're  camped  back  of  Split  Hill.  Now,  Split 
Hill  is  no  place  for  a  camp,  even  in  th'  summer; 

[200] 


THE  NORTHER 

an'  what  got  us  was  th'  idea  of  campin'  at  all  in 
th*  winter.  It  riled  Buck  till  he  forgot  to  cross 
off  three  days  on  th'  calendar,  which  we  later 
discovered  by  help  of  th'  almanac  an'  th'  moon. 
Buck  sends  Hoppy  over  to  scout  around  Split 
Hill.  You  know  Hoppy.  He  scouted  for  two 
days  without  bein'  seen,  an'  without  discoverin' 
any  lawful  an'  sane  reason  why  twelve  hard- 
lookin'  fellers  should  be  campin'  back  of  Split 
Hill  in  th'  winter  time.  He  also  found  they; 
had  come  from  th'  south,  an'  he  swore  there 
was  n't  no  cow  tracks  leadin'  toward  them  from 
our  range.  But  there  was  lots  of  boss  tracks 
back  and  forth.  An'  when  he  reports  that  th' 
campers  had  left  an'  gone  on  north  we  all  feel 
better.  Then  he  adds  they  turned  east  below 
th'  Double  Arrow  an'  went  back  south  again. 
That 's  different.  It 's  plain  to  some  of  us  they 
was  lookin'  us  over  for  future  use;  learnin'  our 
ways  an'  th'  lay  of  th'  land.  There  was  seven 
of  us  at  th'  time,  but  we  could  'a'  licked  'em  in 
a  fair  fight. 

"In  them  days  we  only  had  two  line  houses. 

[201] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Number  One  was  near  Big  Coulee,  with  Cowan's 
at  th'  far  end  of  its  fifteen  miles  of  north  line; 
th'  west  line  was  a  twenty-five-mile  ride  south 
to  Lookout  Peak.  Number  Two  was  where  th' 
Jumpin'  Bear  empties  into  th'  river,  now  part 
of  Meeker's  range.  From  it  th'  riders  went  west 
twenty-five  miles  to  th'  Peak  an'  north  from  it 
twenty-five  miles  along  th'  east  line.  There  was 
a  hundred  thousan'  acres  in  Conroy  Valley  an' 
thirty  thousan'  in  th'  Meeker  triangle,  which 
made  up  Section  Two.  At  that  time  mebby  ten 
thousan'  cows  was  on  this  section — two-thirds  of 
all  of  'em.  When  we  built  Number  Three  on 
th'  Peak  this  section  was  cut  down  to  a  reason- 
able size.  Th'  third  headquarters  then  was  th' 
bunkhouse,  with  only  th'  east  line  to  ride.  One 
part,  th'  shortest,  ran  north  to  Cowan's ;  th'  other 
run  about  seventeen  miles  south  to  Li'l  Timber, 
where  th'  line  went  on  as  part  of  Number  Two's. 
We  paired  off  an'  had  two  weeks  in  each  of  'em 
in  them  days. 

*When  we  shifted  at  th'  end  of  that  w^eek 
Jimmy  Price  an'  Ace  Fisher  got  Number  One; 

[202] 


THE  NORTHER 

Skinny  an'  Lanky  was  in  Number  Two ;  an'  me 
an'  Buck  an'  Hoppy  took  life  easy  in  th'  bunk- 
house,  with  th'  cook  to  feed  us.  Buck,  he 
scouted  all  over  th'  ranch  between  th'  lines  an' 
worked  harder  than  any  of  us,  spendin'  his  nights 
in  th'  nearest  house. 

"One  mornin',  about  a  week  after  th'  campers 
left.  Buck  looked  out  of  th'  bunkhouse  door  an' 
cautions  me  an'  Hoppy  to  ride  prepared  for  cold 
weather.  I  can  see  he  's  worried,  an'  to  please 
him  we  straps  a  blanket  an'  a  buffalo  robe  be- 
hind our  saddles,  cussin'  th'  size  of  'em  under 
our  breath.  I  've  got  th'  short  ride  that  day, 
an'  Buck  says  he  '11  wait  for  me  to  come  back, 
after  which  we  '11  scout  around  Medicine  Bend. 
He  's  still  worried  about  them  campers.  In  th' 
Valley  th'  cows  are  thicker  'n  th'  other  parts  of 
th'  range,  an'  it  would  n't  take  no  time  to  get  a 
big  herd  together.  He  's  got  a  few  things  to 
mend,  so  he  says  he  '11  do  th'  work  before  I  get 
back. 

"Down  on  Section  Two  things  is  happenin' 
fast,   like   they   mostly   do   out   here.     Twelve 

[203] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

rustlers  can  do  a  lot  if  they  have  things  planned, 
an'  'most  any  fair  plan  will  work  once.  They 
only  wanted  one  day — after  that  it  would  be  a 
runnin'  fight,  with  eight  or  nine  of  'em  layin' 
back  to  hold  us  off  while  th'  others  drove  th' 
cows  hard.  Why,  Slippery  Trendley  an'  Ta- 
male  Jose  was  th'  only  ones  that  ever  slid  across 
our  lines  with  that  many  men. 

"Three  rustlers  slipped  up  to  Number  Two 
at  night  an'  waited.  When  Skinny  opened  th' 
door  in  th'  mornin'  he  was  drove  back  with  a  hole 
in  his  shoulder.  Then  there  was  h — 1  a-poppin' 
in  that  li'l  mud  shack.  But  it  did  n't  do  no  good, 
for  neither  of  'em  could  get  out  alive  until  after 
dark.  They  learned  that  with  sorrow,  an'  pain. 
An'  they  shore  was  het  up  about  it.  Ace  Fisher, 
ridin'  along  th'  west  line  from  Number  One,  was 
dropped  from  ambush.  Two  more  rustlers  lay 
back  of  Medicine  Bend  lookin'  for  any  of  us  that 
might  ride  down  from  the  bunkhouse.  An'  they 
sent  two  more  over  to  Li'l  Timber  to  lay  under 
that  ledge  of  rock  that  sticks  out  of  th'  south  side 
of  th'  bluff  like  a  porch  roof.     Either  me  or 

[204] 


THE  NORTHER 

Hoppy  would  be  ridin'  that  way.  They  stacked 
th'  deck  clever;  but  Providence  cut  it  square. 

"Th'  first  miss-cue  comes  when  a  pert  gray 
wolf  lopes  past  ahead  of  Hoppy  when  he  's  quite 
some  distance  above  Lil  Timber.  This  gray 
wolf  was  a  whopper,  an'  Hoppy  was  all  set  to 
get  him.  He  wanted  that  sassy  devil  more 'n 
he  wanted  money  just  then,  so  he  starts  after  it. 
Mr.  Gray  Wolf  leads  him  a  long  chase  over  th' 
middle  of  th'  range  an'  then  suddenly  disappears. 
Hoppy  hunts  around  quite  a  spell,  an'  then  heads 
back  for  th'  line.  While  he  's  huntin'  for  th' 
wolf  it  gets  cold,  an'  it  keeps  on  gettin'  colder 
fast. 

"Me,  I  leaves  later  'n  usual  that  mornin'.  An' 
I  don't  get  to  Cowan's  until  late.  I  'm  there 
when  I  notices  how  cussed  cold  it 's  got  all  of 
a  sudden.  Cowan  looks  at  his  thermometer, 
which  Jimmy  later  busts,  an'  says  she  has  gone 
down  thirty  degrees  since  daylight.  He  gives 
me  a  bottle  of  liquor  Buck  wanted,  an'  I  ride 
west  along  th'  north  line,  hopin'  to  meet  Jimmy 
or  Ace  for  a  short  talk. 

[205] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"All  at  once  I  notice  somebody  's  puUin'  a 
slate-covered  blanket  over  th'  north  sky,  an'  I 
drag  my  blanket  out  an'  wrap  it  around  me. 
I  'm  gettin'  blamed  cold,  an'  also  a  li'l  worried. 
Shall  I  go  back  to  Cowan's  or  head  straight  for 
th'  bunkhouse?  Cowan's  the  nearest  by  three 
miles,  but  what 's  three  miles  out  here?  It 's  got 
a  lot  colder  than  it  was  when  I  was  at  Cowan's, 
an'  while  I  'm  debatin'  about  it  th'  wind  dies  out. 
I  look  up  an'  see  that  th'  slate-covered  blanket 
has  traveled  fast.  It 's  'most  over  my  head,  an' 
th'  light  is  gettin'  poor.  When  I  look  down 
again  I  notice  my  cayuses's  ears  movin'  back  an' 
forth,  an'  he  starts  pawin'  an'  actin'  restless. 
That  settles  it.  I  'm  backin'  instinct  just  then, 
an'  I  head  for  home.  I  ain't  cussin'  that  blanket 
none  now,  an'  I  'm  glad  I  got  th'  robe  handy; 
an'  that  quart  of  liquor  ain't  bulky  no  more. 

"All  at  once  th'  bottom  falls  out  of  that  lead 
sky,  an'  flakes  as  big  as  quarters  sift  down  so  fast 
they  hurts  my  eyes,  an'  so  thick  I  can't  see 
twenty  feet.  In  ten  minutes  everythin'  is  white, 
an'  in  ten  more  I  'm  in  a  strange  country.     My 

[206] 


THE  NORTHER 

hands  an'  feet  ache  with  cold,  an'  I  'm  drawin' 
th'  blanket  closer,  when  there  's  a  puff  of  wind 
so  cold  it  cuts  into  my  back  like  a  knife.  It 
passes  quick,  but  it  don't  fool  me.  I  know 
what 's  behind  it.  I  reach  for  th'  robe  an'  has 
it  'most  unfastened  when  there  's  a  roar  an'  I  'm 
'most  unseated  by  th'  wind  before  I  can  get  set. 
I  did  n't  know  then  that  it 's  goin'  to  blow  that 
hard  for  three  days,  an'  it 's  just  as  well.  It 's 
full  of  ice — li'l  slivers  that  are  sharp  as  needles 
an'  cut  an'  sting  till  they  make  th'  skin  raw.  I 
let  loose  of  th'  robe  an'  tie  my  bandanna  around 
my  face,  so  my  nose  an'  mouth  is  covered.  My 
throat  burns  already  almost  to  my  lungs.  Good 
Lord,  but  it  is  cold!  My  hands  are  stiff  when 
I  go  back  for  th'  robe,  an'  it 's  all  I  can  do  to  keep 
it  from  blowin'  away  from  me.  It  takes  me  a 
long  time  to  get  it  over  th'  blanket,  an'  my  hands 
are  'most  froze  when  it 's  fastened.  That  was  a 
good  robe,  but  it  didn't  make  much  difference 
that  day.  Th'  cold  cuts  through  it  an'  into  my 
back  as  if  it  was  n't  there.  My  feet  are  gettin' 
worse  all  th'  time,  an'  it  ain't  long  before  I  ain't 

[207] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

got  none,  for  th*  achin'  stops  at  th'  ankles. 
Purty  soon  only  my  knees  ache,  an'  I  know  it 
won't  be  long  till  they  won't  ache  no  more. 

"I  'm  squirmin'  in  my  clothes  tryin'  to  rub 
myself  warm  when  I  remember  that  flask  of 
liquor.  Th'  cork  was  out  far  enough  for  my 
teeth  to  get  at  it,  an'  I  drink  a  quarter  of  it  quick. 
It 's  an  awful  load — any  other  time  it  would  'a' 
knocked  me  cold,  for  Cowan  sold  a  lot  worse 
stuff  then  than  he  does  now.  But  it  don't  phase 
me,  except  for  takin'  most  of  th'  linin'  out  of 
my  mouth  an'  throat.  It  warms  me  a  li'l,  an'  it 
makes  my  knees  ache  a  li'l  harder.  But  it  don't 
last  long — th'  cold  eats  through  me  just  as  hard 
as  ever  a  li'l  later,  an'  then  I  begin  to  see  things 
an'  get  sleepy.  Cows  an'  cayuses  float  around 
in  th'  air,  an'  I  'm  countin'  money,  piles  of  it. 
I  get  warm  an'  drowsy  an'  find  myself  noddin'. 
That  scares  me  a  li'l,  an'  I  fight  hard  ag'in  it. 
If  I  go  to  sleep  it 's  all  over.  It  keeps  gettin' 
worse,  an'  I  finds  my  eyes  shuttin'  more  an'  more 
frequent,  an'  more  an'  more  frequent  thinkin'  I 
don't   care,    anyhow.     An'    so    I    drifts    along 

[208] 


THE  NORTHER 

pullin'  at  th'  bottle  till  it 's  empty.  That  should 
'a'  killed  me,  then  an'  there — but  it  don't  even 
make  me  real  drunk.  Mebby  I  spilled  some  of 
it,  my  hands  bein'  nothin'  but  sticks.  I  can't  see 
more  'n  five  feet  novr,  an'  my  eyes  water,  which 
freezes  on  'em.  I  've  given  up  all  hope  of 
hearin'  any  shootin'.  So  I  close  th'  peekhole  in 
th'  blanket  an'  robe,  drawin'  'em  tight  to  keep 
out  some  of  th'  cold.  I  am  sittin'  up  stiff  in  th' 
saddle,  like  a  soldier,  just  from  force  of  habit, 
and  after  a  li'l  while  I  don't  know  nothin'  more. 
Pete  says  I  was  a  corpse,  froze  stiff  as  a  ramrod, 
an'  he  calls  me  ghost  for  a  long  time  in  fun. 
But  Pete  was  n't  none  too  clear  in  his  head  about 
that  time. 

"Down  at  Li'l  Timber,  Hoppy  managed  to 
get  under  th'  shelter  of  that  projectin'  ledge  of 
rock  on  th'  south  side  of  th'  bluff.  Th'  snow  an' 
ice  is  whirlin'  under  it  because  of  a  sort  of  back 
draft,  but  th'  wind  don't  hit  so  hard.  He  's 
fightin'  that  cayuse  every  foot,  tryin'  to  get  to 
th'  cave  at  th'  west  end,  an'  disputin'  th'  right  of 
way  with  th'  cows  that  are  packed  under  it. 

[209] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

There  's  firewood  under  that  ledge  an'  there 's 
food  on  th'  hoof,  an'  snow  water  for  drink ;  so  if 
he  can  make  th'  cave  he  's  safe.  He  's  more  wor- 
ried about  his  supply  of  smokin'  tobacco  than 
anythin'  else,  so  far  as  he  's  concerned. 

"All  at  once  he  runs  onto  four  men  huddled 
half -froze  in  a  bunch  right  ahead  of  him.  He 
knows  in  a  flash  who  they  are,  an'  he  draws 
fumblingly,  an'  holds  th'  gun  in  his  two  hands, 
they  are  so  cold.  One  clean  hit  an'  five  clean 
misses  in  twenty  feet !  They  're  gropin'  for 
their  guns  when  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  whirls 
down  from  th'  top  of  th'  hill,  pilin'  snow  an'  ice 
on  'em  till  they  can't  see  nor  breathe.  An'  a 
couple  of  old  trees  come  down  to  make  things 
nicer.  Hoppy  is  blinded,  an'  when  he  gets  so 
he  can  see  again  there 's  one  rustler's  arm 
stickin'  up  out  of  th'  snow,  but  no  signs  of  th* 
other  three.  They  blundered  out  into  th'  open 
tryin'  to  get  away  from  th'  stuff  comin'  down  on 
'em,  an'  that  means  they  won't  be  back  no  more. 

"Hoppy  manages  to  get  to  th'  cave,  tie  his 
cayuse  to  a  fallen  tree,  an'  gather  enough  fire- 

[210] 


THE  NORTHER 

wood  for  a  good  blaze,  which  he  puts  in  front  of 
th'  cave.  It  takes  him  a  long  time  to  use  up  his 
matches  one  by  one,  an'  then  he  pulls  th'  lead 
out  of  a  cartridge  with  his  teeth,  shakes  th'  pow- 
der loose  in  it  an'  along  th'  barrel.  Usin'  hig 
cigarette  papers  for  tinder  he  gets  th'  fire 
started  an'  goin'  good  an'  is  feelin'  some  cheer- 
ful when  he  remembers  th'  three  rustlers  driftin' 
south.  They  was  bound  to  hit  a  big  arroyo  that 
would  lead  'em  almost  ag'in'  Number  Two's  door. 
With  th'  wind  drivin'  'em  straight  for  it,  Hoppy 
thinks  it  might  mean  trouble  for  Lanky  or 
Skinny.  He  did  n't  think  about  'em  only  havin' 
wool-lined  slickers  on,  or  he  'd  'a'  knowed  they 
couldn't  live  till  they  got  halfway.  They  left 
their  blankets  in  camp  so  they  could  work  fast. 
**People  have  called  us  clannish,  an'  said  we 
was  a  lovin'  bunch'  because  we  stick  together  so 
tight.  We  've  faced  so  much  together  that  us 
of  th'  old  bunch  has  got  th'  same  blood  in  our 
veins.  We  ain't  eight  men — we  're  one  man  in 
eight  different  kinds  of  bodies.  G — d  help  any- 
body that  tries  to  make  us  less!     It 's  one  thing 

[211] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

to  stand  up  an'  swap  shots  with  a  gunman;  but 
it 's  another  to  turn  yore  back  on  a  cave  an'  a 
fire  like  that  an'  go  out  into  what  is  purty  nigh 
shore  death  on  a  long  chance  of  helpin'  a  couple 
of  friends  that  was  able  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves. That 's  one  of  th'  things  that  explains 
why  we  made  Shorty  Jones  an'  his  eleven  men 
pay  with  their  lives  for  takin'  Jimmy's  life. 
Twelve  for  one!  That  fight  at  Buckskin  ain't 
generally  understood,  even  by  our  friends.  An' 
Hoppy  crowns  his  courage  twice  in  that  one 
storm.     Ain't  he  an  old  son-of-a-gun? 

"He  leaves  that  fire  an'  forces  his  cayuse  to 
take  him  out  in  th'  storm  again,  finds  that  th' 
arroyo  is  level  full  of  snow,  but  has  both  banks 
swept  bare.  He  passes  them  three  rustlers  in 
th'  next  ten  minutes — they  won't  do  no  more 
cow-liftin'.  Then  he  tries  to  turn  back,  but 
that 's  foolish.  So  he  drifts  on,  gettin'  a  li'l  loco 
by  now.  He  's  purty  near  asleep  when  he  thinks 
he  hears  a  shot.  He  fights  his  cayuse  again,  but 
can't  stop  it,  so  he  falls  off  an'  lets  it  drift,  an' 
crawls  an'  fights  his  way  back  to  where  that  shot 

[212] 


THE  NORTHER 

was  fired  from.  G — d  only  knows  how  he  does 
it,  but  he  falls  over  a  cow  an'  sees  Lanky  huggin' 
its  belly  for  th'  li'l  warmth  in  th'  carcass.  An' 
he  ought  to  'a'  found  him,  after  leavin'  his  cayuse 
an'  turnin'  back  on  foot  in  that  h — ^1  storm!  Th' 
drifts  was  beginnin'  to  make  then — when  th' 
storm  was  over  I  saw  drifts  thirty  feet  high  in 
th'  open;  an'  in  th'  valley  there  was  some  that 
run  'most  to  th'  top  of  th'  bluffs,  an'  they're 
near  sixty  feet  high. 

"Well,  Lanky  is  as  crazy  as  him,  an'  won't 
let  go  of  that  cow,  an'  they  have  a  fight,  which 
is  good  for  both  of  'em.  Finally  Lanky  gets 
some  sense  in  his  head  an'  realizes  what  Hoppy 
is  tryin'  to  do  for  him,  an'  they  go  staggerin' 
down  wind,  first  one  fallin'  an'  then  th'  other. 
But  they  keep  fightin'  like  th'  game  boys  they 
are,  neither  givin'  a  cuss  for  himself,  but  shore 
obstinate  that  he  's  goin'  to  get  th'  other  out  of 
it.  That 's  our  spirit ;  an'  we  're  proud  of  it,  by 
G — dl  Hoppy  wraps  th'  robe  around  Lanky, 
an'  so  they  stagger  on,  neither  one  knowin'  very 
much  by  that  time.     Th'  Lord  must  'a'  pitied 

[213] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

that  pair,  an'  admired  th'  stuff  He  'd  put  in  *em, 
for  they  bump  into  th'  hne  house  kerslam,  an' 
drop,  all  done  an'  exhausted. 

"Meanwhile  Skinny's  hoppin'  around  inside, 
prayin'  an'  eussin'  by  streaks,  every  five  minutes 
openin'  th'  door  an'  firin'  off  his  Colt.  He  has 
tied  th'  two  ropes  together,  an'  frequent  he  ties 
one  end  to  th'  door,  th'  other  to  hisself,  an'  goes 
out  pokin'  around  in  th'  snow,  hopin'  to  stumble 
over  his  pardner.  He  's  plumb  forgot  his  bad 
shoulder  long  ago.  Purty  soon  he  opens  th' 
door  again  to  shoot  off  th'  gun,  an'  in  streaks 
somethin'  between  his  laigs.  He  slams  th'  door 
as  he  jumps  aside,  an'  then  looks  scared  at 
Lanky's  sombrero!  Mebby  he's  slow  hoppin' 
outside  an'  diggin'  them  out  of  th'  drift  that 's 
near  covered  'em!  Now,  don't  think  bad  of 
Skinny.  He  dassn't  leave  th'  house  to  search 
any  distance,  even  if  he  could  'a'  seen  anythin'. 
His  best  play  is  to  stick  there  an'  shoot  off  his 
gun — Lanky  might  drift  past  if  he  was  not  there 
to  signal.  Skinny  thought  more  of  Lanky  any 
time  than  he  did  of  hisself,  th'  emaciated  match! 

[214] 


THE  NORTHER 

"It  don't  take  long  to  kick  in  a  lot  of  snow 
with  that  wind  blowin'  an'  he  rubs  them  two  till 
he  's  got  tears  in  his  eyes.  Then  he  fills  'em  with 
hot  stew  an'  whisky,  rolls  'em  up  together  an' 
heaves  'em  in  th'  same  bunk.  It  ain't  warm 
enough  in  that  house,  even  with  th'  fire  goin',  to 
make  'em  lose  no  arms  or  laigs. 

*'It  seems  that  Lanky,  watchin'  his  chance  as 
soon  as  th'  snow  fell  heavy  enough  to  cover  his 
movements,  slipped  out  of  th'  house  an'  started 
to  circle  out  around  them  festive  rustlers  that 
held  him  an'  his  friend  prisoners.  He  made 
Skinny  stay  behind  to  hold  th'  house  an'  keep  a 
gun  poppin'.  Lanky  has  worked  up  behind 
where  th'  rustlers  was  layin'  when  th'  Norther 
strikes  full  force.  It  near  blows  him  over,  an', 
not  havin'  on  nothin'  but  an  old  army  overcoat 
that  was  wore  out,  th'  cold  gets  him  quick.  He 
can't  see,  an'  he  can't  hear  Skinny 's  shots  no 
more !  He  does  th'  best  he  can  an'  tries  to  fight 
back  along  his  trail,  but  in  no  time  there  ain't 
no  tracks  to  follow.  Then  he  loses  his  head  an' 
starts  wanderin'  until  a  cow  blunders  down  on 

[215] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

him.  He  shoots  th'  cow  an'  hugs  its  belly  to 
keep  warm  an'  then  he  don't  really  remember 
nothin'  'till  he  wakes  up  in  th'  bunk  alongside  of 
Hoppy,  both  gettin'  over  an  awful  drunk 
Skinny  kept  f  eedin'  liquor  to  'em  till  it  was  gone, 
an'  he  had  a  plenty  when  he  began. 

**Jimmy  Price  was  at  Number  One  when  th 
blow  started,  an'  Buck  was  in  th'  bunkhouse,  an 
it  was  three  weeks  before  they  could  get  out  an 
around,  on  account  of  th'  snow  fallin'  so  steady 
an'  hard  they  could  n't  see  nothin'. 

*Well,  getting  back  to  me  explains  how  Pete 
Wilson  came  to  th'  Bar-20.  He  is  migratin' 
south,  just  havin'  had  th'  pleasure  of  learnin' 
that  his  wife  sloped  with  a  better-lookin'  man. 
He  was  scared  she  might  get  tired  of  th'  other 
feller  an'  sift  back,  so  he  sells  out  his  li'l  store, 
loads  a  waggin  with  blankets,  grub,  an'  firewood, 
an'  starts  south,  winter  or  no  winter.  He  moves 
fast  for  a  new  range,  where  he  can  make  a  new 
beginnin'  an'  start  life  fresh,  with  five  years  of 
burnin'  matrimonial  experience  as  his  valuablest 
asset.    Pete     says     he     reckoned     mebby     he 

[216] 


THE  NORTHER 

would  n*t  have  so  many  harness  sores  if  he  run 
single  th'  rest  of  his  life ;  heretofore  he  'd  been 
so  busy  applyin'  salve  that  he  did  n't  have  time 
to  find  out  just  what  was  th'  trouble  with  th' 
double  harness.  Lots  of  men  feel  that  way,  but 
they  ain't  got  Pete's  unlovely  outspoken  habit 
of  thought.  We  used  to  reckon  mebby  he 
was  n't  as  smart  as  th'  rest  of  us,  him  bein'  slow 
an'  blunderin'  in  his  retorts.  We  Ve  played  that 
with  coppers  lots  of  times  since,  though.  While 
he  ain't  what  you  'd  call  quick  at  retortin',  his  re- 
torts usually  is  heard  by  th'  whole  county.  It 
ain't  every  collar-galled  husband  that 's  got  th' 
gumption  or  smartness  to  jump  th'  minute  th' 
hat  is  lifted.     Pete  had, 

"He 's  drivin'  across  our  range,  an'  when  th* 
wind  dies  out  sudden  an'  th'  snow  sifts  down, 
he  's  just  smart  enough  to  get  out  his  beddin'  an' 
wrap  it  around  him  till  he  looks  like  a  bale  of 
cotton.  An'  even  at  that  he  's  near  froze  an' 
lookin'  for  a  place  to  make  a  stand  when  he  feels 
a  bump.  It 's  me,  fallin'  off  my  cayuse,  against 
his  front  wheel.     He  emerges  from  his  beddin', 

[217] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

lifts  me  into  th'  waggin,  puts  most  of  his 
blankets  around  me,  an'  stops.  Knowin'  he 
can't  save  th'  cayuses,  he  shoots  'em.  That 
means  grub  for  us,  anyhow,  if  we  run  short  of 
th'  good  stuff.  Nobody  but  Pete  could  'a'  got 
th'  canvas  off  that  waggin  in  such  a  gale,  but  he 
did  it.  He  busts  th'  arches  an'  slats  off  th'  top 
of  th'  waggin  an'  uses  'em  for  firewood.  Th' 
canvas  he  drapes  over  th'  box,  lettin'  it  hang 
down  on  both  sides  to  th'  ground.  An'  in  about 
five  minutes  th'  whole  thing  was  covered  over 
with  snow.  Pete  's  the  strongest  man  we  ever 
saw,  an'  we  've  seen  some  good  ones.  Wrastlin' 
that  canvas  with  stiff  hands  was  a  whole  lot  more 
than  what  he  done  to  Big  Sandy  up  there  on 
Thunder  Mesa. 

"Pete  says  I  was  dead  when  he  grabbed  me, 
an'  smellin'  disgraceful  of  liquor.  But  th'  first 
thing  I  know  is  lookin'  up  in  th'  gloom  at  a 
ceilin'  that 's  right  close  to  my  head,  an'  at  a 
sorta  rafter.  That  rafter  gives  me  a  shock.  It 
don't  even  touch  th'  ceilin',  but  runs  along  'most 
a  foot  below  it.     I  close  my  eyes  an'  do  a  lot  of 

[218] 


THE  NORTHER 

thinkin'.  I  remember  freezin'  to  death,  but 
that 's  all.  An'  just  then  I  hears  a  faint  voice 
say:  'He  shore  was  dead.'  I  don't  know  Pete 
then,  or  that  he  talked  to  hisself  sometimes.  An' 
I  reckon  I  was  a  li'l  off  in  my  head,  at  that.  I 
begin  to  wonder  if  he  means  me,  an'  purty  soon 
I  'm  shore  of  it.  An'  don't  I  sympathize  with 
myself?  I  'm  dead  an'  gone  somewhere;  but  no 
preacher  I  ever  heard  ever  described  no  place 
like  this.  Then  I  smell  smoke  an'  burnin'  meat — 
which  gives  me  a  clew  to  th'  range  I  'm  on. 
Mebby  I  'm  shelved  in  th'  ice  box,  waitin'  my 
turn,  or  somethin'.  I  knew  I  'd  led  a  sinful  life. 
But  there  wasn't  no  use  of  rubbin'  it  in — ^it*s 
awful  to  be  dead  an'  know  it. 

"Th'  next  time  I  opens  my  eyes  I  can't  see 
nothin' ;  but  I  can  feel  somethin'  layin'  alongside 
of  me.  It 's  breathin'  slow  an'  regular,  an  it 
bothers  me  till  I  get  th'  idea  all  of  a  sudden. 
It 's  another  dead  one,  cut  out  of  th'  herd  an' 
shoved  in  my  corral  to  wait  for  subsequent 
events.  I  felt  sorry  for  him,  an'  lay  there  tryin' 
to  figger  it  out,  an'  I  'm  still  figgerin'  when  it 

[219] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

starts  to  get  light.  Th'  other  feller  grunts  an' 
sits  up,  bumpin'  his  head  solid  against  that  fool 
rafter.  No  dead  man  that  was  shoved  in  a  herd 
consigned  to  heaven  ever  used  such  language, 
which  makes  me  all  the  shorer  of  where  I  am. 
But  if  hell 's  hot  we  Ve  still  got  a  long  way  to  go. 

"He  sits  there  rubbin'  his  head  an'  cussin' 
steadily,  an'  I  'm  so  moved  by  it  that  I  compli- 
ments him.  He  jumps  an'  bumps  his  head 
again,  an'  looks  at  me  close.  'D — d  if  you  ain't 
a  husky  corpse,'  he  says.  That  settles  it.  I 
ain't  crazy,  like  I  was  hopin',  but  I  'm  dead. 
*You  an'  me  is  on  th'  ragged  edge  of  h — 1,'  he 
adds. 

"^But  who  tipped  you  off?"  I  asks.  *They 
just  shoved  me  in  here  an'  did  n't  tell  me  nothin' 
at  all.' 

"  *Crazy  as  th'  devil,'  he  grunts,  lookin'  at  me 
harder. 

"  *Yo  're  a  liar,'  I  replies.  *I  may  be  dead, 
but  d — d  if  I  'm  crazy !' 

"  *An'  I  don't  blame  you,  either,'  he  mused, 
sorrowful.     'Now  you   keep   quiet  till   I   gets 

[220] 


THE  NORTHER 

somethin'  to  eat,'  an'  he  crawls  into  a  li'l  round 
hole  at  th'  other  end  of  th'  room. 

"Purty  soon  I  smell  smoke  again,  an'  after  a 
long  time  he  comes  back  with  some  hot  coffee  an' 
burned  meat.  I  grab  for  th'  grub,  an'  while 
I  'm  eatin'  I  demands  to  know  where  I  am. 

"He  laughs,  real  cheerful,  an'  tells  me.  I  'm 
under  his  waggin,  surrounded  by  canvas  an'  any 
G — d's  quantity  of  snow.  Th'  drift  over  us  is 
fifteen  foot  high,  th'  wind  has  died  down,  an' 
it 's  still  snowin'  so  hard  he  can't  see  twenty  feet. 
It  is  also  away  down  below  freezin'. 

"We  stayed  under  that  drift  'most  three 
weeks,  livin'  on  raw  meat  after  our  firewood  gave 
out.  We  didn't  suffer  none  from  th'  cold, 
though,  under  all  that  snow  an'  with  all  th' 
blankets  we  had.  When  it  stopped  snowin'  we 
discovered  a  drift  shamefully  high  about  a  mile 
northeast  of  us,  an'  from  th'  smoke  comin'  out 
of  it  I  knew  it  was  th'  bunkhouse. 

"Well,  to  cut  it  short,  it  was.  An'  mebby 
Buck  wasn't  glad  to  see  me!  He  was  worried 
'most  sick  an'  as  soon  as  we  could,  we  got  cayuses 

[221] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

and  started  out  to  look  for  th'  others,  scared  stiff 
at  what  we  expected  to  find." 

He  paused  and  was  silent  a  moment.  **But 
only  Ace  was  missin'/'  he  added.  "We  found 
him  an'  th'  rustlers  later,  when  th'  snow  went 
off." 

He  paused  again  and  shook  his  head.  "It 
shore  was  a  miracle  that  we  did  n't  go  with  'em, 
all  of  us,  except  Buck.  Pete  was  so  plumb  dis- 
gusted with  travelin'  in  th'  winter,  an'  had  lost 
his  cayuses,  that  when  Buck  offers  him  Ace's 
bunk  he  stays.  An'  he  ain't  never  left  us  since. 
Huh!  Cold?  That  cub  don't  know  nothin'— 
mebby  he  will  when  he  grows  up,  but  I  dunno, 
at  that,    Idyho!" 


[222] 


IX 
THE  DRIVE 

THE  Norther  was  a  thing  of  the  past,  but  it 
left  its  mark  on  Buck  Peters,  whose  grim- 
ness  of  face  told  what  the  winter  had  been  to 
him.  His  daily  rides  over  the  range,  the  re- 
ports of  his  men  since  that  deadly  storm  had  done 
a  great  deal  to  lift  the  sagging  weight  that 
rested  on  his  shoulders ;  but  he  would  not  be  sure 
until  the  round-up  supplied  facts  and  figures. 

That  the  losses  had  not  been  greater  he  gave 
full  credit  to  the  valley  with  its  arroyos,  rock 
walls,  draws,  heavily  grassed  range  and  groves 
of  timber;  for  the  valley,  checking  the  great 
southward  drift  by  its  steep  ridges  of  rock,  shel- 
tered the  herds  in  timber  and  arroyos  and  fed 
them  on  the  rich  profusion  of  its  grasses,  which, 
by  some  trick  of  the  rushing  winds,  had  been 
whirled  clean  of  snow. 

But  over  the  cow-country,  north,  east,  south 

[223] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

and  west,  where  vast  ranges  were  unprotected 
against  the  whistling  blasts  from  the  north,  the 
losses  had  been  stupendous,  appalling,  stunning. 
Outfits  had  been  driven  on  and  on  before  the 
furious  winds,  sleepy  and  apathetic,  drifting 
steadily  southward  in  the  white,  stinging  shroud 
to  a  drowsy  death.  Whole  herds,  blindly  mov- 
ing before  the  wind,  left  their  weaker  units  in 
constantly  growing  numbers  to  mark  the  trail, 
and  at  last  lay  down  to  a  sleep  eternal.  And 
astonishing  and  incredible  were  the  distances 
traveled  by  some  of  those  herds. 

Following  the  Norther  came  another  menace 
and  one  which  easily  might  surpass  the  worst 
efforts  of  the  blizzard.  Warm  winds  blew  stead- 
ily, a  hot  sun  glared  down  on  the  snow-covered 
plain  and  then  came  torrents  of  rain  which  con- 
tinued for  days,  turning  the  range  into  a  huge 
expanse  of  water  and  mud  and  swelling  the  water- 
courses with  turgid  floods  that  swirled  and  roared 
above  their  banks.  Should  this  be  quickly  fol- 
lowed by  cold,  even  the  splendid  valley  would 
avail  nothing.     Ice,  forming  over  the  grasses, 

[224] 


THE  DRIVE 

would  prove  as  deadly  as  a  pestilence ;  the  cattle, 
already  weakened  by  the  hardships  of  the 
Norther,  and  not  having  the  instinct  to  break 
through  the  glassy  sheet  and  feed  on  the  grass 
underneath,  would  search  in  vain  for  food,  and 
starve  to  death.  The  week  that  followed  the 
cessation  of  the  rains  started  gray  hairs  on  the 
foreman's  head;  but  a  warm,  constant  sun  and 
warm  winds  dried  off  the  water  before  the  return 
of  freezing  weather.     The  herds  were  saved. 

Relieved,  Buck  reviewed  the  situation.  The 
previous  summer  had  seen  such  great  northern 
drives  to  the  railroad  shipping  points  in  Kansas 
that  prices  fell  until  the  cattlemen  refused  to 
sell.  Rather  than  drive  home  again,  the  great 
herds  were  wintered  on  the  Kansas  ranges,  ready 
to  be  hurled  on  the  market  when  Spring  came 
with  better  prices.  Many  ranches,  mortgaged 
heavily  to  buy  cattle,  had  been  on  the  verge  of 
bankruptcy,  hoping  feverishly  for  better  prices 
the  following  year.  Buck  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  situation  to  stock  his  ranch  at  a  cost  far 
less  than  he  had  dared  to  dream.     Then  came 

[225] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

the  Norther  and  in  the  three  weeks  of  devastat- 
ing cold  and  high  winds  the  Kansas  ranges  were 
swept  clean  of  cattle,  and  even  the  ranges  in  the 
South  were  badly  crippled.  Knowing  this,  Buck 
also  knew  that  the  following  Spring  would  show 
record  high  prices.  If  he  had  the  cattle  he  could 
clean  up  a  fortune  for  his  ranch ;  and  if  his  herd 
w^as  the  first  big  one  to  reach  the  railroad  at 
Sandy  Creek  it  would  practically  mean  a  bonus 
on  every  cow. 

Under  the  long  siege  of  uncertainty  his  im- 
patience smashed  through  and  possessed  him  as  a 
fever  and  he  ordered  the  calf  round-up  three 
weeks  earlier  than  it  ever  had  been  held  on  the 
ranch.  There  was  no  need  of  urging  his  men  to 
the  task — they,  like  himself,  sprang  to  the  call 
like  springs  freed  from  a  restraining  weight,  and 
the  work  went  on  in  a  fever  of  haste.  And  he 
took  his  place  on  the  firing  line  and  worked  even 
harder  than  his  outfit  of  fanatics. 

One  day  shortly  after  the  work  began  a 
stranger  rode  up  to  him  and  nodded  cheerfully. 
"Li'l  early,  ain't  you?"     Buck  grunted  in  reply 

[226] 


THE  DRIVE 

and  sent  Skinny  off  at  top  speed  to  close  a  threat- 
ened gap  in  the  lengthy  driving  line.  "Goin'  to 
git  'em  on  th'  trail  early  this  year?"  persisted  the 
stranger.  Buck,  swayed  by  some  swift  intuition, 
changed  his  reply.  "Oh,  I  dunno;  I  'm  mainly 
anxious  to  see  just  what  that  storm  did.  An'  I 
hate  th'  calf  burnin'  so  much  I  alius  like  to  get 
it  over  quick."  He  shouted  angrily  at  the  cook 
and  waved  his  arms  frantically  to  banish  the 
chuck  wagon.  "He  can  make  more  trouble  with 
that  waggin  than  anybody  I  ever  saw,"  he 
snorted.  "Get  out  of  there,  you  fool!"  he  yelled, 
dashing  off  to  see  his  words  obeyed.  The  cook, 
grinning  cheerfully  at  his  foreman's  language 
and  heat,  forthwith  chose  a  spot  that  was  not 
destined  to  be  the  center  of  the  cut-out  herd. 
And  when  Buck  again  thought  of  the  stranger  he 
saw  a  black  dot  moving  toward  the  eastern  sky- 
line. 

The  crowded  days  rolled  on,  measured  full 
from  dawn  to  dark,  each  one  of  them  a  panting, 
straining,  trying  ordeal.  Worn  out,  the  horses 
were  turned  back  into  the  temporary  corral  or  to 

[227] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

graze  under  the  eyes  of  the  horse  wranglers,  and 
fresh  ones  took  up  their  work ;  and  woe  unto  the 
wranglers  if  the  supply  fell  below  the  demand. 
For  the  tired  men  there  was  no  relief,  only  a  shift- 
ing in  the  kind  of  work  they  did,  and  they  drove 
themselves  with  grave  determination,  their  iron 
wills  overruling  their  aching  bodies.  First  came 
the  big  herds  in  the  valley ;  then,  sweeping  north, 
they  combed  the  range  to  the  northern  hne  in 
one  grand,  mad  fury  of  effort  that  lasted  day 
after  day  until  the  tally  man  joyously  threw 
away  his  chewed  pencil  and  gladly  surrendered 
the  last  sheet  to  the  foreman.  The  first  half  of 
the  game  was  over.  Gone  as  if  it  were  a  night- 
mare was  the  confusion  of  noise  and  dust  and 
cows  that  hid  a  remarkable  certainty  of  method. 
But  as  if  to  prove  it  not  a  dream,  four  thousand 
cows  were  held  in  three  herds  on  the  great  range, 
in  charge  of  the  extra  men. 

Buck,  leading  the  regular  outfit  from  the  north 
line  and  toward  the  bunkhouse,  added  the  figures 
of  the  last  tally  sheet  to  the  totals  he  had  in  a 
little  book,  and  smiled  with  content.     Behind 

[228] 


THE  DRIVE 

him,  cheerful  as  fools,  their  bodies  racking  with 
weariness,  their  faces  di^awn  and  gaunt,  knowing 
that  their  labors  were  not  half  over,  rode  the  out- 
fit, exchanging  chaiF  and  banter  in  an  effort  to 
fool  themselves  into  the  delusion  that  they  were 
fresh  and  "chipper."  Nearing  the  bunkhouse 
they  cheered  lustily  as  they  caught  sight  of  the 
hectic  cook  laboring  profanely  with  two  balking 
pintos  that  had  backed  his  wagon  half  over  the 
edge  of  a  barranca  and  then  refused  to  pull  it 
back  again.  Cookie's  reply,  though  not  a  cheer, 
was  loud  and  pregnant  with  feeling.  To  think 
that  he  had  driven  those  two  animals  for  the  last 
two  weeks  from  one  end  of  the  ranch  to  the  other 
without  a  mishap,  and  then  have  them  balance 
him  and  his  wagon  on  the  crumbling  edge  of  a 
twenty-foot  drop  when  not  a  half  mile  from  the 
bunkhouse,  thus  threatening  the  loss  of  the 
wagon  and  all  it  contained  and  the  mangling  of 
his  sacred  person!  And  to  make  it  worse,  here 
came  a  crowd  of  whooping  idiots  to  feast  upon 
his  discomfiture. 

The  outfit,  slowing  so  as  not  to  frighten  the 

[229] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

devilish  pintos  and  start  them  backing  again, 
drew  near;  and  suddenly  the  air  became  filled 
with  darting  ropes,  one  of  which  settled  affec- 
tionately around  Cookie's  apoplectic  neck.  In 
no  time  the  strangling,  furious  dough-king  was 
beyond  the  menace  of  the  crumbling  bank,  flat 
on  his  back  in  the  wagon,  where  he  had  managed 
to  throw  himself  to  escape  the  whistling  hoofs 
that  quickly  turned  the  dashboard  into  match- 
wood. When  he  managed  to  get  the  rope  from 
his  neck  he  arose,  unsteady  with  rage,  and 
choked  as  he  tried  to  speak  before  the  grinning 
and  advising  outfit.  Before  he  could  get  com- 
mand over  his  tongue  the  happy  bunch  wheeled 
and  sped  on  its  way,  shrieking  with  mirth  un- 
holy. They  had  saved  him  from  probable  death, 
for  Cookie  was  too  obstinate  to  have  jumped 
from  the  wagon;  but  they  not  only  forfeited  all 
right  to  thanks  and  gratitude,  but  deserved  hor- 
rible deaths  for  the  conversation  they  had  so 
audibly  carried  on  while  they  worked  out  the 
cook's  problem.  And  their  departing  words  and 
gestures  made  homicide  justifiable  and  a  duty. 

[230] 


THE  DRIVE 

It  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  that  Cookie  watched 
them  go. 

Buck,  emerging  from  the  bunkhouse  in  time 
to  see  the  rescue,  leaned  against  the  door  and 
laughed  as  he  had  not  laughed  for  one  heart- 
breaking winter.  Drying  his  eyes  on  the  back  of 
his  hand,  he  looked  at  the  bouncing,  happy  crowd 
tearing  southward  with  an  energy  of  arms  and 
legs  and  lungs  that  seemed  a  miracle  after  the 
strain  of  the  round-up.  Just  then  a  strange 
voice  made  him  wheel  like  a  flash,  and  he  saw 
Billy  Williams  sitting  solemnly  on  his  horse  near 
the  corner  of  the  house. 

"Hullo,  Williams,"  Buck  grunted,  with  no 
welcoming  warmth  in  his  voice.  "What  th'  devil 
brings  you  up  here?" 

"I  want  a  job,"  replied  Billy.  The  two,  while 
never  enemies  nor  interested  in  any  mutual  dis- 
agreements, had  never  been  friends.  They  never 
denied  a  nodding  acquaintance,  nor  boasted  of  it. 
"That  Norther  shore  raised  h — 1.  There  's  ten 
men  for  every  job,  where  I  came  from." 

The  foreman,  with  that  quick  decision  that  was 

[231] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

his  in  his  earlier  days,  replied  crisply.  "It*s 
your'n.     Fifty  a  month,  to  start." 

"Keno.  Lemme  chuck  my  war-bag  through 
that  door  an'  I  'm  ready,"  smiled  Billy.  He  be- 
lieved he  would  like  this  man  when  he  knew  him 
better.  "I  thought  th'  Diamond  Bar,  over  east 
a  hundred  mile,  had  weathered  th'  storm  lucky. 
You  got  'em  beat.  They  're  movin'  heaven  an' 
earth  to  get  a  herd  on  the  trail,  but  they  did  n't 
have  no  job  for  me,''  he  laughed,  flushing 
slightly.  "Sam  Crawford  owns  it,"  he  ex- 
plained naively. 

Buck  laughed  outright.  "I  reckon  you  did  n't 
have  much  show  with  Sam,  after  that  li'l  trick 
you  worked  on  him  in  Fenton.  So  Sam  is  in 
this  country?    How  are  they  fixed?" 

"They  aims  to  shove  three  thousan'  east  right 
soon.  It 's  fancy  prices  for  th'  first  herd  that 
gets  to  Sandy  Creek,"  he  offered.  "I  heard 
they're  havin'  lots  of  wet  weather  along  th' 
Comanchee ;  mebby  Sam  '11  have  trouble  a-plenty 
gettin'  his  herd  acrost.     Cows  is  plumb  agger- 

[232] 


THE  DRIVE 

vatin'   when   it   comes   to   crossin'   rivers/*   he 
grinned. 

Buck  nodded.  "See  that  V  openin'  on  th'  sky- 
line?" he  asked,  pointing  westward.  "Ride 
for  it  till  you  see  th'  herd.  Help  'em  with  it. 
We  '11  pick  it  up  t'morrow."  He  turned  on  his 
heel  and  entered  the  house,  grave  with  a  new 
worry.  He  had  not  known  that  there  was  a 
ranch  where  Billy  had  said  the  Diamond  Bar  was 
located;  and  a  hundred  miles  handicap  meant 
much  in  a  race  to  Sandy  Creek.  Crawford  was 
sure  to  drive  as  fast  as  he  dared.  He  was  glad 
that  Billy  had  mentioned  it,  and  the  wet  weather 
along  the  Comanchee — Billy  already  had  earned 
his  first  month's  pay. 

All  that  day  and  the  next  the  consolidation  of 
the  three  herds  and  the  preparation  for  the  drive 
went  on.  Sweeping  up  from  the  valley  the  two 
thousand  three-  and  four-year-olds  met  and 
joined  the  thousand  that  waited  between  Little 
Timber  and  Three  Rocks;  and  by  nightfall  the 
three  herds  were  one  by  the  addition  of  the 

[233] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

thousand  head  from  Big  Coulee.  Four  thousand 
head  of  the  best  cattle  on  the  ranch  spent  the 
night  within  gunshot  of  the  bunkhouse  and  cor- 
rals on  Snake  Creek. 

Buck,  returning  from  the  big  herd,  smiled  as 
he  passed  the  chuck- wagon  and  heard  Cookie's 
snores,  and  went  on,  growing  serious  all  too 
quickly.  At  the  bunkhouse  he  held  a  short  con- 
sultation with  his  regular  outfit  and  then  re- 
turned to  the  herd  again  while  his  drive  crew 
turned  eagerly  to  their  bunks.  Breakfast  was 
eaten  by  candle  light  and  when  the  eastern  sky 
faded  into  a  silver  gray  Skinny  Thompson 
vaulted  into  the  saddle  and  loped  eastward  with- 
out a  backward  glance.  The  sounds  of  his  go- 
ing scarcely  had  died  out  before  Hopalong,  re- 
lieved of  the  responsibilities  of  trail  boss,  shoul- 
dered others  as  weighty  and  rode  into  the  north- 
east with  Lanky  at  his  side.  Behind  him,  under 
charge  of  Red,  the  herd  started  on  its  long  and 
weary  journey  to  Sandy  Creek,  every  man  of 
the  outfit  so  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  race 
that  even  with  its  hundred  miles'  advantage  the 

[234] 


THE  DRIVE 

Diamond  Bar  could  not  afford  to  waste  an  hour 
if  it  hoped  to  win. 

Out  of  the  side  of  a  verdant  hill,  whispering 
and  purling,  flowed  a  small  stream  and  shyly 
sought  the  crystal  depths  of  a  rock-bound  pool 
before  gaining  courage  enough  to  flow  gently 
over  the  smooth  granite  lip  and  scurry  down  the 
gentle  slope  of  the  arroyo.  To  one  side  of  it 
towered  a  splinter  of  rock,  slender  and  gray, 
washed  clean  by  the  recent  rains.  To  the  south 
of  it  lay  a  baffling  streak  a  little  hghter  than  the 
surrounding  grass  lands.  It  was,  perhaps,  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  wide  and  ended  only  at  the 
horizon.  This  faint  band  was  the  Dunton  trail, 
not  used  enough  to  show  the  strong  character- 
istics of  the  depressed  bands  found  in  other  parts 
of  the  cow-country.  If  followed  it  would  lead 
one  to  Dunton's  Ford  on  the  Comanchee,  forty 
miles  above  West  Bend,  where  the  Diamond  Bar 
aimed  to  cross  the  river. 

The  shadow  of  the  pinnacle  drew  closer  to  its 
base  and  had  crossed  the  pool  when   Skinny 

[235] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Thompson  rode  slowly  up  the  near  bank  of  the 
ravine,  his  eyes  fixed  smilingly  on  the  splinter  of 
rock.  He  let  his  mount  nuzzle  and  play  with 
the  pool  for  a  moment  before  stripping  off  the 
saddle  and  turning  the  animal  loose  to  graze. 
Taking  his  rifle  in  the  hope  of  seeing  game,  he 
went  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  glanced  westward 
and  then  turned  and  gazed  steadily  into  the 
northeast,  sweeping  slowly  over  an  arc  of 
thirty  degrees.  He  stood  so  for  several  min- 
utes and  then  grunted  with  satisfaction  and  re- 
turned to  the  pool.  He  had  caught  sight  of  a 
black  dot  far  away  on  the  edge  of  the  skyline 
that  split  into  two  parts  and  showed  a  sidewise 
drift.  Evidently  his  friends  would  be  on  time. 
Of  the  herd  he  had  seen  no  sign,  which  was  what 
he  had  expected. 

When  at  last  he  heard  hoof  beats  he  arose  lazily 
and  stretched,  chiding  himself  for  falling  asleep, 
and  met  his  friends  as  they  turned  into  sight 
aroimd  the  bend  of  the  hill.  "Reckoned  you 
might  'a'  got  lost,"  he  grinned  sleepily. 

"jG-'wan!"  snorted  Lanky. 

[236] 


THE  DRIVE 

*'What  'd  you  find?"  eagerly  demanded  Hop- 
along. 

"Three  thousan'  head  on  th'  West  Bend  trail 
five  days  ahead  of  us,"  replied  Skinny.  "OF 
Sam  is  drivin'  hard."  He  paused  a  moment. 
"Acts  like  he  knows  we  're  after  him.  Anyhow, 
I  saw  that  feller  that  visited  us  on  th'  third  day 
of  th'  round-up.     So  I  reckon  Sam  knows." 

Lanky  grinned.  "He  won't  drive  so  hard 
later.  I  'd  like  to  see  him  when  he  sees  th' 
Comanchee!  Bet  it 's  a  lake  south  of  Dunton's 
'cordin'  to  what  we  found.  But  it  ain't  goin'  to 
bother  us  a  whole  lot." 

Hopalong  nodded,  dismounted  and  drew  a 
crude  map  in  the  sand  of  the  trail.  Skinny 
watched  it,  grave  and  thoughtful  until,  all  at 
once,  he  understood.  His  sudden  burst  of 
laughter  startled  his  companions  and  they  ex- 
changed foolish  grins.  It  appeared  that  from 
Dunton's  Ford  north,  in  a  distance  of  forty  miles, 
the  Comanchee  was  practically  born.  So  many 
feeders,  none  of  them  formidable,  poured  into  it 
that  in  that  distance  it  attained  the  dignity  of  a 

[237] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

river.  Hopalong's  plan  was  to  drive  off  at  a 
tangent  running  a  little  north  from  the  regular 
trail  and  thus  cross  numerous  small  streams  in 
preference  to  going  on  straight  and  facing  the 
swollen  Comanchee  at  Dunton's  Ford.  As  the 
regular  trail  turned  northward  when  not  far 
from  Sandy  Creek  they  were  not  losing  time. 
Laughing  gaily  they  mounted  and  started  west 
for  the  herd  which  toiled  toward  them  many 
miles  away.  Thanks  to  the  forethought  that  had 
prompted  their  scouting  expedition  the  new  trail 
was  picked  out  in  advance  and  there  would  be  no 
indecision  on  the  drive. 

Eighty  miles  to  the  south  lay  the  fresh  trail 
of  the  Diamond  Bar  herd,  and  five  days'  drive 
eastward  on  it,  facing  the  water-covered  lowlands 
at  West  Bend,  Sam  Crawford  held  his  herd,  cer- 
tain that  the  river  would  fall  rapidly  in  the  next 
two  days.  It  was  the  regular  ford,  and  the  best 
on  the  river.  The  water  did  fall,  just  enough  to 
lure  him  to  stay;  but,  having  given  orders  at 
dark  on  the  second  night  for  an  attempt  at  cross- 
ing at  daylight  the  next  morning,  he  was  amazed 

[238] 


THE  DRIVE 

when  dawn  showed  him  the  river  was  back  to  its 
first  level. 

Sam  was  American  born,  but  affected  things 
English  and  delighted  in  spelling  "labor"  and 
like  words  with  a  "u."  He  hated  hair  chaps  and 
maintained  that  the  gun-play  of  the  West  was 
mythical  and  existed  only  in  the  minds  of  effete 
Easterners.  Knowing  that,  it  was  startling  to 
hear  him  tell  of  Plummer,  Hickock,  Roberts, 
Thompson  and  a  host  of  other  gunmen  who  had 
splotched  the  West  with  blood.  Not  only  did 
every  man  of  that  section  pack  a  gun,  but  Craw- 
ford, himself,  packed  one,  thus  proving  liimself 
either  a  malicious  liar  or  an  imbecile.  He  acted 
as  though  the  West  belonged  to  him  and  that  he 
was  the  arbiter  of  its  destiny  and  its  chosen  his- 
torian— which  made  him  troublesome  on  the 
great,  free  ranges.  Only  that  his  pretensions  and 
his  crabbed,  irascible,  childish  temper  made  him 
ludicrous  he  might  have  been  taken  seriously,  to 
his  sorrow.  Failing  miserably  at  law,  he  fled 
from  such  a  precarious  livelihood,  beset  with  a 
haunting  fear  that  he  had  lost  his  grip,  to  an  in- 

[239] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

herited  ranch.  This  fear  that  pursued  him 
turned  him  into  a  carping  critic  of  those  who  ex- 
celled him  in  most  things,  except  in  fits  of  lying 
about  the  West  as  it  existed  at  that  time. 

When  he  found  that  the  river  was  over  the 
lowlands  again  he  became  furious  and,  carried 
away  by  rage,  shouted  down  the  wiser  counsel  of 
his  clear-headed  night  boss  and  ordered  the  herd 
into  the  water.  Here  and  there  desperate,  wild- 
eyed  steers  wheeled  and  dashed  back  through  the 
cordon  of  riders,  their  numbers  constantly  grow- 
ing as  the  panic  spread.  The  cattle  in  the  front 
ranks,  forced  into  the  swirling  stream  by  the 
pressure  from  the  rear,  swam  with  the  current 
and  clambered  out  below,  adding  to  the  con- 
fusion. Steers  fought  throughout  the  press  and 
suddenly,  out  of  the  right  wing  of  the  herd,  a 
dozen  crazed  animals  dashed  out  in  a  bunch  for 
the  safety  of  the  higher  ground;  and  after  them 
came  the  herd,  an  irresistible  avalanche  of  mad- 
dened beef.  It  was  not  before  dark  that  they 
were  rounded  up  into  a  nervous,  panicky  herd 
once  more.     The  next  morning  they  were  started 

[240] 


THE  DRIVE 

north  along  the  river,  to  try  again  at  Dun- 
ton's  Ford,  which  they  reached  in  three  days, 
and  where  another  attempt  at  crossing  the  river 
proved  in  vain. 

Meanwhile  the  Bar-20  herd  pushed  on  steadily 
with  no  confusion.  It  crossed  the  West  Run 
one  noon  and  the  upper  waters  of  the  Little 
Comanchee  just  before  dark  on  the  same  day. 
Next  came  East  Run,  Pawnee  Creek  and  Ten 
Mile  Creek,  none  of  them  larger  than  the  stream 
the  cattle  were  accustomed  to  back  on  the  ranch. 
Another  day's  drive  brought  them  to  the  west 
branch  of  the  Comanchee  itself,  the  largest  of  all 
the  rivers  they  would  meet.  Here  they  were 
handled  cautiously  and  "nudged"  across  with 
such  care  that  a  day  was  spent  in  the  Avork.  The 
following  afternoon  the  east  branch  held  them  up 
until  the  next  day  and  then,  with  a  clear  trail, 
they  were  sent  along  on  the  last  part  of  the  long 
journey. 

When  Sam  Crawford,  forced  to  keep  on  driv- 
ing north  along  the  Little  Comanchee,  saw  that 
wide,  fresh  trail,  he  barely  escaped  apoplexy  and 

[241] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

added  the  finishing  touches  to  the  suUenness  of 
his  outfit.  Seeing  the  herd  across,  he  gave  or- 
ders for  top  speed  and  drove  as  he  never  had 
driven  before;  and  when  the  last  river  had  been 
left  behind  he  put  the  night  boss  in  charge  of  the 
cattle  and  rode  on  ahead  to  locate  his  rivals  of 
the  drive.  Three  days  later,  when  he  returned 
to  his  herd,  he  was  in  a  towering  fury  and  talked 
constantly  of  his  rights  and  an  appeal  to  law, 
and  so  nagged  his  men  that  mutiny  stalked  in 
his  shadow. 

When  the  Bar-20  herd  was  passing  to  the 
south  of  the  little  village  of  Depau,  Hopalong 
turned  back  along  the  trail  to  find  the  Diamond 
Bar  herd.  So  hard  had  Sam  pushed  on  that  he 
was  only  two  days'  drive  behind  Red  and  his  out- 
fit when  Hopalong  rode  smilingly  into  the  Dia- 
mond Bar  camp.  He  was  talking  pleasantly  of 
shop  to  some  of  the  Diamond  Bar  punchers  when 
Sam  dashed  up  and  began  upbraiding  him  and 
threatening  dire  punishment.  Hopalong,  main- 
taining a  grave  countenance,  took  the  lacing 
meekly  and  humbly  as  he  winked  at  the  grinning 

[242] 


THE  DRIVE 

punchers.  Finally,  after  exasperating  Sam  to  a 
point  but  one  degree  removed  from  explosion, 
he  bowed  cynically,  said  "so-long"  to  the  friendly 
outfit  and  loped  away  toward  his  friends.  Sam, 
choking  with  rage,  berated  his  punchers  for 
not  having  thrown  out  the  insulting  visitor  and 
commanded  more  speed,  which  was  impossible. 
Reporting  to  Red  the  proximity  of  their  rivals, 
Hopalong  fell  in  line  and  helped  drive  the  herd 
a  little  faster.  The  cattle  were  in  such  condi- 
tion from  the  easy  traveling  of  the  last  week  that 
they  could  easily  stand  the  pace  if  Crawford's 
herd  could.  So  the  race  went  on.  Red  keeping 
the  same  distance  ahead  day  after  day. 

Then  came  the  night  when  Sandy  Creek  lay 
but  two  days'  drive  away.  A  storm  had  threat- 
ened since  morning  and  the  first  lightning  of  the 
drive  was  seen.  The  cattle  were  mildly  restless 
when  Hopalong  rode  in  at  midnight  and  he  was 
cheerfully  optimistic.  He  was  also  very  much 
awake,  and  after  trying  in  vain  to  get  to  sleep 
he  finally  arose  and  rode  back  along  the  trail 
toward  the  stragglers,  which  Jimmy  and  Lanky 

[243] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

were  holding  a  mile  away.  Red  had  pushed  on 
to  the  last  minute  of  daylight  and  Lanky  had  de- 
cided to  hold  the  stragglers  instead  of  driving 
them  up  to  the  main  herd  so  they  would  start 
even  with  it  the  following  morning.  It  was 
made  up  of  the  cattle  that  had  found  the  drive 
too  much  for  them  and  was  smaller  than  the  out- 
fit had  dared  to  hope  for. 

Hopalong  had  just  begun  to  look  around  for 
the  herd  when  it  passed  him  with  sudden  uproar. 
Shouting  to  a  horseman  who  rode  furiously  past, 
he  swung  around  and  raced  after  him,  desper- 
ately anxious  to  get  in  front  of  the  stampede  to 
try  to  check  it  before  it  struck  the  main  herd  and 
made  the  disaster  complete.  For  the  next  hour 
he  was  in  a  riot  of  maddened  cattle  and  shaved 
death  many  times  by  the  breadth  of  a  hand.  He 
could  hear  Jimmy  and  Lanky  shouting  in  the 
black  void,  now  close  and  now  far  away.  Then 
the  turmoil  gradually  ceased  and  the  remnant  of 
the  herd  paused,  undecided  whether  to  stop  or 
go  on.  He  flung  himself  at  it  and  by  driving 
cleverly  managed  to  start  a  number  of  cows  to 

[244] 


THE  DRIVE 

milling,  which  soon  had  the  rest  following  suit. 
The  stampede  was  over.  A  cursing  blot  emerged 
from  the  darkness  and  hailed.  It  was  Lanky, 
coldly  ferocious.  He  had  not  heard  Jimmy  for 
a  long  time  and  feared  that  the  boy  might  be  ly- 
ing out  on  the  black  plain,  trampled  into  a  shape- 
less mass  of  flesh.  One  stumble  in  front  of  the 
charging  herd  would  have  been  suflicient. 

Daylight  disclosed  the  missing  Jimmy  hob- 
Ming  toward  the  breakfast  fire  at  the  cook 
wagon.  He  was  bruised  and  bleeding  and  cov- 
ered with  dirt,  his  clothes  ripped  and  covered 
with  mud ;  and  every  bone  and  muscle  in  his  body 
was  alive  with  pain. 

The  Diamond  Bar's  second  squad  had  ridden 
in  to  breakfast  when  a  horseman  was  seen  ap- 
proaching at  a  leisurely  lope.  Sam,  cursing 
hotly,  instinctively  fumbled  at  the  gun  he  wore 
at  his  thigh  in  defiance  to  his  belief  concerning 
the  wearing  of  guns.  He  blinked  anxiously  as 
the  puncher  stopped  at  the  wagon  and  smiled  a 
heavy-eyed  salutation.  The  night  boss  emerged 
from  the  shelter  of  the  wagon  and  grinned  a 

[245] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

sheepish  welcome,  "Well,  Cassidy,  you  fellers 
got  th'  trail  somehow.  We  was  some  surprised 
when  we  hit  yore  trail.     How  you  makin'  it?" 

"All  right,  up  to  last  night,"  replied  Hop- 
along,  shaking  hands  with  the  night  boss.  "Got 
a  match,  Barnes?"  he  asked,  holding  up  an  un- 
lighted  cigarette.  They  talked  of  things  con- 
nected with  the  drive  and  Hopalong  cautiously 
swung  the  conversation  around  to  mishaps,  men- 
tioning several  catastrophes  of  past  years.  Af- 
ter telling  of  a  certain  stampede  he  had  once 
seen,  he  turned  to  Barnes  and  asked  a  blunt 
question.  "What  would  you  do  to  anybody  as 
stampeded  yore  stragglers  within  a  mile  of  th' 
main  herd  on  a  stormy  night?"  The  answer  was 
throaty  and  rumbling.  "Why,  shoot  him,  I 
reckon."  The  others  intruded  their  ideas  and 
Crawford  squirmed,  his  hand  seeking  his  gun 
under  the  pretense  of  tightening  his  belt, 

Hopalong  arose  and  went  to  his  horse,  where 
a  large  bundle  of  canvas  was  strapped  behind  the 
saddle.  He  loosened  it  and  unrolled  it  on  the 
ground.     "Ever  see  this  afore,  boys?"  he  asked, 

[246] 


THE  DRIVE 

stepping  back.  Barnes  leaped  to  his  feet  with 
an  ejaculation  of  surprise  and  stared  at  the  can- 
vas. "Where 'd  you  git  it?"  he  demanded. 
"That 's  our  old  wagon  cover!" 

Hopalong,  ignoring  Crawford,  looked  around 
the  little  group  and  smiled  grimly.  "Well,  last 
night  our  stragglers  was  stampeded.  Lanky 
told  me  he  saw  somethin'  gray  blow  past  him  in 
th'  darkness,  an'  then  th'  herd  started.  We  man- 
aged to  turn  it  from  th'  trail  an'  so  it  did  n't  set 
off  our  main  herd.  Jimmy  was  near  killed — 
well,  you  know  what  it  is  to  ride  afore  stampeded 
cows.  I  found  this  cover  blowed  agin'  a  lil 
clump  of  trees,  an'  when  I  sees  yore  mark,  I 
reckoned  I  ought  to  bring  it  back."  He  dug 
into  his  pocket  and  brought  out  a  heavy  clasp 
knife.  "I  just  happened  to  see  this  not  far  from 
where  th'  herd  started  from,  so  I  reckoned  I  'd 
return  it,  too."  He  held  it  out  to  Barnes,  who 
took  it  with  an  oath  and  wheeled  like  a  flash  to 
face  his  employer. 

Crawford  was  backing  toward  the  wagon,  his 
hand  resting  on  the  butt  his  gun,  and  a  white- 

[247] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

ness  of  face  told  of  the  fear  that  gripped  him. 
*'I  '11  take  my  time,  right  now,"  growled  Barnes. 
*'D — d  if  I  works  another  day  for  a  low-lived 
coyote  that  'd  do  a  thing  like  that !"  The  punch- 
ers behind  him  joined  in  and  demanded  their 
wages.  Hopalong,  still  smiling,  waved  his  hand 
and  spoke.  "Don't  leave  him  with  all  these  cows 
on  his  hands,  out  here  on  th'  range.  If  you  quits 
him,  wait  till  you  get  to  Sandy  Creek.  He  ain't 
no  man,  he  ain't ;  he  's  a  nasty  li'l  brat  of  a  kid 
that  couldn't  never  grow  up  into  a  man.  So, 
that  bein'  true,  he  ain't  goin'  to  get  handled  like 
a  man.  I  'm  goin'  to  lick  him,  'stead  of  shootin' 
him  like  he  was  a  man.  You  know,"  he  smiled, 
glancing  around  the  little  circle,  "us  cowpunch- 
ers  don't  never  carry  guns.  We  don't  swear,  nor 
wear  chaps,  even  if  all  of  us  has  got  'em  on  right 
now.  We  say  *please'  an'  'thank  you'  an'  never 
get  mad.  Not  never  wearin'  a  gun  I  can't  shoot 
him;  but,  by  G — d,  I  can  lick  him  th'  worst 
he  's  ever  been  licked,  an'  I  'm  goin'  to  do  it  right 
now."  He  wheeled  to  start  after  the  still-back- 
ing cowman,  and  leaped  sideways  as  a  cloud  of 

[248] 


Crawford's  Colt  tore  loose  from  his  fingers  and  dropped  near 
the  wagon  wheel 


THE  DRIVE 

smoke  swirled  around  his  hips.  Crawford 
screamed  with  fear  and  pain  as  his  Colt  tore  loose 
from  his  fingers  and  dropped  near  the  wheel  of 
the  wagon.  Terror  gripped  him  and  made  him 
incapable  of  flight.  Who  was  this  man,  what 
was  he,  when  he  could  draw  and  fire  with  such 
speed  and  remarkable  accuracy?  Crawford's 
gun  had  been  half  raised  before  the  other  had 
seen  it.  And  before  his  legs  could  perform  one 
of  their  most  cherished  functions  the  limping  cow- 
puncher  was  on  him,  doing  his  best  to  make  good 
his  promise.  The  other  half  of  the  Diamond  Bar 
drive  crew,  attracted  by  the  commotion  at  the 
chuck  wagon,  rode  in  with  ready  guns,  saw  their 
friends  making  no  attempt  at  interference,  asked 
a  few  terse  questions  and,  putting  up  their  guns, 
forthwith  joined  the  circle  of  interested  and 
pleased  spectators  to  root  for  the  limping  red- 
head. 

Red,  back  at  the  Bar-20  wagon,  inquired  of 
Cookie  the  whereabouts  of  Hopalong.  Cookie, 
still  smarting  under  Jimmy's  galling  fire  of  lan- 

[249] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

guage,  grunted  ignorance  and  a  wish.  Red 
looked  at  him,  scowling.  "You  can  talk  to  th' 
Kid  like  that,  mebby;  but  you  get  a  civil  tongue 
in  yore  head  when  any  of  us  grown-ups  ask  ques- 
tions." He  turned  on  his  heel,  looked  search- 
ingly  around  the  plain  and  mounting,  returned 
to  the  herd,  perplexed  and  vexed.  As  he  left  the 
camp,  Jimmy  hobbled  around  the  wagon  and 
stared  after  him.  "Kid!"  he  snorted.  "Grown- 
ups!" he  sneered.  "Huh!"  He  turned  and 
regarded  Cookie  evilly.  "Yo're  gonna  get  a 
good  lickin'  when  I  get  so  I  can  move  better,"  he 
promised.  Cookie  lifted  the  red  flannel  dish-rag 
out  of  the  pan  and  regarded  it  thoughtfully. 
"You  better  wait,"  he  agreed  pleasantly.  "You 
can't  run  now.  I  'm  honin'  for  to  drape  this  mop 
all  over  yore  wall-eyed  face;  but  I  can  wait." 
He  sighed  and  went  back  to  work.  "Wish  Red 
would  shove  you  in  with  th'  rest  of  th'  cripples 
back  yonder,  an'  get  you  ofF'n  my  frazzled 
nerves." 

Jimmy  shook  his  head  sorrowfully  and  limped 

[250] 


THE  DRIVE 

around  the  wagon  again,  where  he  resumed  his 
sun  bath.  He  dozed  off  and  was  surprised  to  be 
called  for  dinner.  As  he  arose,  grunting  and 
growling,  he  chanced  to  look  westward,  and  his 
shout  apprised  his  friends  of  the  return  of  the 
missing  red-head. 

Hopalong  dismounted  at  the  wagon  and 
grinned  cheerfully,  despite  the  suspicious  marks 
on  his  face.  Giving  an  account  of  events  as  they 
occurred  at  the  Diamond  Bar  chuck  wagon,  he 
wound  up  with:  "Needn't  push  on  so  hard, 
Red.  Crawford's  herd  is  due  to  stay  right  where 
it  is  an'  graze  peaceful  for  a  week.  I  heard 
Barnes  give  th'  order  before  I  left.  How 's 
things  been  out  here  while  I  was  away?" 

Red  glared  at  him,  ready  to  tell  his  opinion  of 
reckless  fools  that  went  up  against  a  gun-pack- 
ing crowd  alone  when  his  friends  had  never  been 
known  to  refuse  to  back  up  one  of  their  outfit. 
The  words  hung  on  his  lips  as  he  waited  for  a 
chance  to  launch  them.  But  when  that  chance 
came  he  had  been  disarmed  by  the  cheerfulness 

[251] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

of  his  happy  friend.  "Hoppy,"  he  said,  trying 
to  be  severe,  "yo  're  nothing'  but  a  crazy,  d — d 
fool.  But  what  did  they  say  when  you  started 
for  huffy  Sam  like  that?" 


[252] 


X 

THE  HOLD-UP 

THE  herd  delivered  at  Sandy  Creek  had 
traveled  only  half  way,  for  the  remaining 
part  of  the  journey  would  be  on  the  railroad. 
The  work  of  loading  the  cars  was  fast,  furious 
fun  to  anyone  who  could  find  humor  enough  in 
his  make-up  to  regard  it  so.  Then  came  a  long, 
wearying  ride  for  the  five  men  picked  from  the 
drive  outfit  to  attend  to  the  cattle  on  the  way 
to  the  cattle  pens  of  the  city.  Their  work  at 
last  done,  they  "saw  the  sights"  and  were  now 
returning  to  Sandy  Creek. 

The  baggage  smoking-car  reeked  with  strong 
tobacco,  the  clouds  of  smoke  shifting  with  the 
air  currents,  and  dimly  through  the  haze  could 
be  seen  several  men.  Three  of  these  were  play- 
ing cards  near  the  baggage-room  door,  while  two 
more  lounged  in  a  seat  half  way  down  the  aisle 
and  on  the  other  side  of  the  car.     Across  from 

[253] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

the  card-players,  reading  a  magazine,  was  a  fat 
man,  and  near  the  water  cooler  was  a  dyspeptic- 
looking  individual  who  was  grumbling  about  the 
country  through  which  he  was  passing. 

The  first  five,  as  their  wearing  apparel  pro- 
claimed, were  not  of  the  kind  usually  found  on 
trains,  not  the  drummer,  the  tourist,  or  the 
farmer.  Their  heads  were  covered  with  heavy 
sombreros,  their  coats  were  of  thick,  black  wool- 
ens, and  their  shirts  were  also  of  wool.  Around 
the  throat  of  each  was  a  large  handkerchief, 
knotted  at  the  back;  their  trousers  were  pro- 
tected by  "chaps,"  of  which  three  were  of  goat- 
skin. The  boots  were  tight-fitting,  narrow,  and 
with  high  heels,  and  to  them  were  strapped 
heavy  spurs.  Around  the  waist,  hanging 
loosely  from  one  hip,  each  wore  a  wide  belt  con- 
taining fifty  cartridges  in  the  loops,  and  sup- 
porting a  huge  Colt's  revolver,  which  rested 
against  the  thigh. 

They  were  happy  and  were  trying  to  sing  but, 
owing  to  different  tastes,  there  was  noticeable 
a  lack  of  harmony.     "Oh  Susanna"  never  did 

[254] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

go  well  with  "Annie  Laurie,"  and  as  for 
"Dixie,"  it  was  hopelessly  at  odds  with  the  other 
two.  But  they  were  happy,  exuberantly  so,  for 
they  had  enjoyed  their  relaxation  in  the  city 
and  now  were  returning  to  the  station  where 
their  horses  were  waiting  to  carry  them  over  the 
two  hundred  miles  which  lay  between  their  ranch 
and  the  nearest  railroad-station. 

For  a  change  the  city  had  been  pleasant,  but 
after  they  had  spent  several  days  there  it  lost 
its  charm  and  would  not  have  been  acceptable 
to  them  even  as  a  place  in  which  to  die.  They 
had  spent  their  money,  smoked  "top-notcher" 
cigars,  seen  the  "shows"  and  feasted  each  as  his 
fancy  dictated,  and  as  behooved  cowpunchers 
with  money  in  their  pockets.  Now  they  were 
glad  that  every  hour  reduced  the  time  of  their 
stay  in  the  smoky,  jolting,  rocking  train,  for 
they  did  not  like  trains,  and  this  train  was  par- 
ticularly bad.  So  they  passed  the  hours  as  best 
they  might  and  waited  impatiently  for  the  stop 
at  Sandy  Creek,  where  they  had  left  theu- 
horses.     Their  trip  to  the  *'fence  country"  was 

[255] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

now  a  memory,  and  they  chafed  to  be  again  in 
the  saddle  on  the  open,  wind-swept  range,  where 
miles  were  insignificant  and  the  silence  soothing. 

The  fat  man,  despairing  of  reading,  watched 
the  card-players  and  smiled  in  good  hmnor  as  he 
listened  to  their  conversation,  while  the  dyspep- 
tic, nervously  twisting  his  newspaper,  wished  that 
he  were  at  his  destination.  The  baggage-room 
door  opened  and  the  conductor  looked  down  on 
the  card-players  and  grinned.  Skinny  moved 
over  in  the  seat  to  make  room  for  the  genial  con- 
ductor. 

*'Sit  down,  Simms,  an'  take  a  hand,"  he  in- 
vited. Laughter  arose  continually  and  the  fat 
man  joined  in  it,  leaning  forward  more  closely 
to  watch  the  play. 

Lanky  tossed  his  cards  face  down  on  the  board 
and  grinned  at  the  onlooker. 

"Billy  shore  bluffs  more  on  a  varigated  flush 
than  any  man  I  ever  saw." 

"Call  him  once  in  a  while  and  he  '11  get  cured 
of  it,"  laughed  the  fat  man,  bracing  himself  as 
the  train  swung  around  a  sharp  turn. 

[256] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

**He  's  too  smart,"  growled  Billy  Williams. 
"He  tried  that  an'  found  I  did  n't  have  no  vari- 
gated  flushes.  Come  on,  Lanky,  if  yo  're  play- 
ing cards,  put  up." 

Farther  down  the  car,  their  feet  resting  easily 
on  the  seat  in  front  of  them,  Hopalong  and  Red 
puffed  slowly  at  their  large,  black  cigars  and 
spoke  infrequently,  both  idly  watching  the  plain 
flit  by  in  wearying  sameness,  and  both  tired  and 
lazy  from  doing  nothing  but  ride. 

**Blast  th'  cars,  anyhow,"  grunted  Hopalong, 
but  he  received  no  reply,  for  his  companion  was 
too  disgusted  to  say  anything. 

A  startling,  sudden  increase  in  the  roar  of  the 
train  and  a  gust  of  hot,  sulphurous  smoke 
caused  Hopalong  to  look  up  at  the  brakeman, 
who  came  down  the  swaying  aisle  as  the  door 
slammed  shut. 

"Phew!"  he  exclaimed,  genially.  "Why  in 
thunder  don't  you  fellows  smoke  up?" 

Hopalong  blew  a  heavy  ring,  stretched  ener- 
getically and  grinned:  "Much  farther  to  Sandy 
Creek?" 

[257] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Oh,  you  don't  get  oj0F  for  three  hours  yet," 
laughed  the  brakeman. 

"That 's  shore  a  long  time  to  ride  this  bronc 
train,"  moodily  complained  Red  as  the  singing 
began  again.  "She  shore  pitches  a-plenty,"  he 
added. 

The  train-hand  smiled  and  seated  himself  on 
the  arm  of  the  front  seat : 

"Oh,  it  might  be  worse." 

"Not  this  side  of  hades,"  replied  Red  with 
decision,  watching  his  friend,  who  was  slapping 
the  cushions  to  see  the  dust  fly  out:  "Hey,  let 
up  on  that,  will  you!  There's  dust  a-plenty 
without  no  help  from  you  1" 

The  brakeman  glanced  at  the  card-players  and 
then  at  Hopalong.    , 

"Do  your  friends  always  sing  like  that?"  he 
inquired. 

"Mostly,  but  sometimes  it 's  worse." 

"On  the  level?" 

"Shore  enough;  they're  singing  'Dixie,'  now. 
It's  their  best  song." 

"That  ain't 'Dixie!'" 

[258] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

"Yes  it  is:  that  is,  most  of  it." 
"Well,  then,  what 's  the  rest  of  it?" 
"Oh,   them 's   variations   of   their   own,"   re- 
marked Red,  yawning  and  stretching.     "Just 
wait    till    they    start    something    sentimental; 
you  '11  shore  weep." 

"I  hope  they  stick  to  the  variations.  Say,  you 
must  be  a  pretty  nifty  gang  on  the  shoot,  ain't 

you?" 

"Oh,  some,"  answered  Hopalong. 

"I  wish  you  fellers  had  been  aboard  with  us 
one  day  about  a  month  ago.  We  was  the 
wrong  end  of  a  hold-up,  and  we  got  cleaned  out 
proper,  too," 

"An'  how  many  of  'em  did  you  get?"  asked 
Hopalong  quickly,  sitting  bolt  upright. 

The  fat  man  suddenly  lost  his  interest  in  the 
card-game  and  turned  an  eager  ear  to  the  brake- 
man,  while  the  dyspeptic  stopped  punching  holes 
in  his  time-card  and  listened.  The  card-players 
glanced  up  and  then  returned  to  their  game,  but 
they,  too,  were  listening. 

The  brakeman  was  surprised:     "How  many 

[259] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

did  we  get  I  Gosh  1  we  did  n't  get  none !  They 
was  six  to  our  five/' 

"How  many  cards  did  you  draw,  you  Piute?" 
asked  Lanky. 

"None  of  yore  business;  I  ain't  dealing,  an'  I 
would  n't  tell  you  if  I  was,"  retorted  Billy. 

"WeU,  I  can  ask,  can't  I?" 

"Yes — you  can,  an'  did." 

"You  didn't  get  none?"  cried  Hopalong, 
doubting  his  ears. 

"I  should  say  not!" 

"An'  they  owned  th'  whole  train?" 

"They  did." 

Red  laughed.  "Th'  cleaning-up  must  have 
been  sumptuous  an'  elevating." 

"Every  time  I  holds  threes  he  alius  has  bet- 
ter," growled  Lanky  to  Simms. 

"On  th'  level,  we  could  n't  do  a  thing,"  the 
brakeman  ran  on.  "There  's  a  water  tank  a  little 
farther  on,  and  they  must  'a'  climbed  aboard 
there  when  we  stopped  to  connect.  When  we 
got  into  the  gulch  the  train  slowed  down  and 
stopped  and  I  started  to  get  up  to  go  out  and 

[260] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

see  what  was  the  matter;  but  I  saw  that  when  I 
looked  down  a  gun-barrel.  The  man  at  the 
throttle  end  of  it  told  me  to  put  up  my  hands, 
but  they  were  up  as  high  then  as  I  could  get  'em 
without  climbin'  on  the  top  of  the  seat. 

**Can't  you  listen  and  play  at  th'  same  time?" 
Lanky  asked  Billy. 

*'I  was  n't  countin'  on  takin'  the  gun  away 
from  him,"  the  brakeman  continued,  "for  I  was 
too  busy  watchin'  for  the  slug  to  come  out  of 
the  hole.  Pretty  soon  somebody  on  the  outside 
whistled  and  then  another  feller  come  in  the 
car;  he  was  the  one  that  did  the  cleanin'  up. 
All  this  time  there  had  been  a  lot  of  shootin'  out- 
side, but  now  it  got  worse.  Then  I  heard  an- 
other whistle  and  the  engine  puffed  up  the  track, 
and  about  five  minutes  later  there  was  a  big  ex- 
plosion, and  then  our  two  robbers  backed  out  of 
the  car  among  the  rocks  shootin'  back  regard- 
less.    They  busted  a  lot  of  windows." 

"An'  you  didn't  git  none,"  grumbled  Hop- 
along,  regretfully. 

"When  we  got  to  the  express-car,  what  had 

[261] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

been  pulled  around  the  turn,*'  continued  the 
brakeman,  not  heeding  the  interruption,  "we 
found  a  wreck.  And  we  found  the  engineer 
and  fireman  standin'  over  the  express-messen- 
ger, too  scared  to  know  he  would  n't  come  back 
no  more.  The  car  had  been  blowed  up  with 
dynamite,  and  his  fighting  soul  went  with  it. 
He  never  knowed  he  was  licked." 

*'An'  nobody  tried  to  help  him!"  Hopalong 
exclaimed,  wrathfully  now. 

"Nobody  wanted  to  die  with  him,"  replied  the 
brakeman, 

"Well,"  cried  the  fat  man,  suddenly  reach- 
ing for  his  valise,  "I  'd  like  to  see  anybody  try 
to  hold  me  up !"  Saying  which  he  brought  forth 
a  small  revolver. 

"You  'd  be  praying  out  of  your  bald  spot 
about  that  time,"  muttered  the  brakeman. 

Hopalong  and  Red  turned,  perceived  the 
weapon,  and  then  exchanged  winks. 

"That 's  a  fine  shootin'-iron,  stranger," 
gravely  remarked  Hopalong. 

[262] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

"You  bet  it  is  I"  purred  the  owner,  proudly. 
"I  paid  six  dollars  for  that  gun." 

Lanky  smothered  a  laugh  and  his  friend 
grinned  broadly:  "I  reckon  that 'd  kill  a  man 
— ^if  you  stuck  it  in  his  ear." 

"Pshaw!"  snorted  the  dyspeptic,  scornfully. 
"You  wouldn't  have  time  to  get  it  out  of  that 
grip.  Think  a  train-robber  is  going  to  let  you 
unpack?  Why  don't  you  carry  it  in  your  hip- 
pocket,  where  you  can  get  at  it  quickly?" 

There  were  smiles  at  the  stranger's  belief  in 
the  hip-pocket  fallacy  but  no  one  commented 
upon  it. 

"Wasn't  there  no  passengers  aboard  when 
you  was  stuck  up?"  Lanky  asked  the  conductor. 

"Yes,  but  you  can't  count  passengers  in  on  a 
deal  like  that." 

Hopalong  looked  around  aggressively: 
"We  're  passengers,  ain't  we?" 

"You  certainly  are." 

"Well,  if  any  misguided  maverick  gets  it  into 
his  fool  head  to  stick  us  up,  you  see  what  hap- 

[263] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

pens.  Don't  you  know  th'  fellers  outside  have 
all  th'  worst  o'  th'  deal?" 

"They  have  not!"  cried  the  brakeman. 

"They  Ve  got  all  the  best  of  it,"  asserted  the 
conductor  emphatically.  "I  've  been  inside,  and 
I  know." 

"Best  nothing!"  cried  Hopalong.  "They  are 
on  th'  ground,  watching  a  danger-line  over  a 
hundred  yards  long,  full  of  windows  and  doors. 
Then  they  brace  th'  door  of  a  car  full  of  people. 
While  they  climb  up  the  steps  they  can't  see  in- 
side, an'  then  they  go  an'  stick  their  heads  in 
plain  sight.  It's  an  even  break  who  sees  th' 
other  first,  with  th'  men  inside  training  their 
guns  on  th'  glass  in  th'  doorl" 

"Darned  if  you  ain't  right  1"  enthusiastically 
cried  the  fat  man. 

Hopalong  laughed:  "It  all  depends  on  th' 
men  inside.  If  they  ain't  used  to  handling  guns, 
'course  they  won't  try  to  fight.  We  've  been  in 
so  many  gun-festivals  that  we  would  n't  stop  to 
think.     If  any  coin-collector  went  an'  stuck  his 

[264] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

ugly  face  against  th'  glass  in  that  door  he  'd  turn 
a  back-jflip  off  'n  th'  platform  before  he  knowed 
he  was  hit.  Is  there  any  chance  for  a  stick-up 
to-day,  d'y  think?" 

*'Can't  tell,"  replied  the  brakeman.  *'But 
this  is  about  the  time  we  have  the  section-camps' 
pay  on  board,"  he  said,  going  into  the  baggage 
end  of  the  car, 

Simms  leaned  over  close  to  Skinny.  "It 's  on 
this  train  now,  and  I  'm  worried  to  death  about 
it.     I  wish  we  were  at  Sandy  Creek." 

"Don't  you  go  to  worryin'  none,  then,"  the 
puncher  replied.  "It  '11  get  to  Sandy  Creek  all 
right." 

Hopalong  looked  out  of  the  window  again  and 
saw  that  there  was  a  gradual  change  in  the  na- 
ture of  the  scenery,  for  the  plain  was  becoming 
more  broken  each  succeeding  mile.  Small 
woods  occasionally  hurtled  past  and  banks  of 
cuts  flashed  by  like  mottled  yellow  curtains, 
shutting  off  the  view.  Scrub  timber  stretched 
away  on  both  sides,  a  billowy  sea  of  green,  and 
miniature  valleys  lay  under  the  increasing  num- 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

ber  of  trestles  twisting  and  winding  toward  a 
high  horizon. 

Hopalong  yawned  again:  "Well,  it's  none 
o'  our  funeral.  If  they  let  us  alone  I  don't 
reckon  we  '11  take  a  hand,  not  even  to  bust  up 
this  monotony." 

Red  laughed  derisively:  "Oh,  no!  Why, 
you  could  n't  sit  still  nohow  with  a  fight  going 
on,  an'  you  know  it.  An'  if  it's  a  stick-up! 
Wow!" 

"Who  gave  you  any  say  in  this?"  demanded 
his  friend.  "Anyhow,  you  ain't  no  angel  o' 
peace,  not  nohow!" 

"Mebby  they'll  plug  yore  new  sombrero," 
laughed  Red. 

Hopalong  felt  of  the  article  in  question:  "If 
any  two-laigged  wolf  plugs  my  war-bonnet  he  '11 
be  some  sorry,  an'  so  '11  his  folks,"  he  asserted, 
rising  and  going  down  the  aisle  for  a  drink. 

Red  turned  to  the  brakeman,  who  had  just  re- 
turned: "Say,"  he  whispered,  "get  off  at  th' 
next  stop,  shoot  off  a  gun,  an'  yell,  just  for  fun. 
Go  ahead,  it  '11  be  better  'n  a  circus." 

[266] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

"Nix  on  the  circus,  says  I,"  hastily  replied 
the  other.  *'I  ain't  looking  for  no  excitement, 
an'  I  ain't  paid  to  amuse  th'  passengers.  I  hope 
we  don't  even  run  over  a  track-torpedo  this  side 
of  Sandy  Creek." 

Hopalong  returned,  and  as  he  came  even  with 
them  the  train  slowed. 

"What  are  we  stopping  for?"  he  asked,  his 
hand  going  to  his  holster. 

"To  take  on  water;  the  tank  's  right  ahead." 

"What  have  you  got?"  asked  Billy,  ruffling  his 
cards. 

"None  of  yore  business,"  replied  Lanky. 
*'You  call  when  you  gets  any  curious." 

"Oh,  th'  devil!"  yawned  Hopalong,  leaning 
back  lazily.  "I  shore  wish  I  was  on  my  cayuse 
pounding  leather  on  th'  home  trail." 

"Me,  too,"  grumbled  Red,  staring  out  of  the 
window.  "Well,  we  're  moving  again.  It 
won't  be  long  now  before  we  gets  out  of  this." 

The  card-game  continued,  the  low-spoken 
terms  being  interspersed  with  casual  comment; 
Hopalong  exchanged  infrequent  remarks  with 

[267] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Red,  while  the  brakeman  and  conductor  stared 
out  of  the  same  window.  There  was  noticeable 
an  air  of  anxiety,  and  the  fat  man  tried  to  read 
his  magazine  with  his  thoughts  far  from  the 
printed  page.  He  read  and  re-read  a  single 
paragraph  several  times  without  gaining  the 
slightest  knowledge  of  what  it  meant,  while  the 
dyspeptic  passenger  fidgeted  more  and  more  in 
his  seat,  like  one  sitting  on  hot  coals,  anxious  and 
alert. 

"We're  there  now,"  suddenly  remarked  the 
conductor,  as  the  bank  of  a  cut  blanked  out  the 
view.  **It  was  right  here  where  it  happened; 
the  turn 's  farther  on." 

**How  many  cards  did  you  draw.  Skinny?" 
asked  Lanky. 

''Three;  drawin'  to  a  straight  flush,"  laughed 
the  dealer. 

"Here  's  the  turn!  We  're  through  all  right," 
exclaimed  the  brakeman. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  rumbling  bump,  a 
screeching  of  air-brakes  and  the  grinding  and 
rattle  of  couplings  and  pins  as  the  train  slowed 

[268] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

down  and  stopped  with  a  suddenness  that 
snapped  the  passengers  forward  and  back.  The 
conductor  and  brakeman  leaped  to  their  feet, 
where  the  latter  stood  quietly  during  a  moment 
of  indecision. 

A  shot  was  heard  and  the  conductor's  hand, 
raised  quickly  to  the  whistle-rope  sent  blast  after 
blast  shrieking  over  the  land.  A  babel  of 
shouting  burst  from  the  other  coaches  and,  as 
the  whistle  shrieked  without  pause,  a  shot  was 
heard  close  at  hand  and  the  conductor  reeled 
suddenly  and  sank  into  a  seat,  limp  and  silent. 

At  the  first  jerk  of  the  train  the  card-players 
threw  the  board  from  across  their  knees,  scatter- 
ing the  cards  over  the  floor,  and  crouching,  gained 
the  center  of  the  aisle,  intently  peering  through 
the  windows,  their  Colts  ready  for  instant  use. 
Hopalong  and  Red  were  also  in  the  aisle,  and 
when  the  conductor  had  reeled  Hopalong's  Colt 
exploded  and  the  man  outside  threw  up  his  arms 
and  pitched  forward. 

"Good  boy,  Hopalong!"  cried  Skinny,  who 
was  fighting  mad. 

[269] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Hopalong  wheeled  and  crouched,  watching 
the  door,  and  it  was  not  long  before  a  masked 
face  appeared  on  the  farther  side  of  the  glass. 
Hopalong  fired  and  a  splotch  of  red  stained  the 
white  mask  as  the  robber  fell  against  the  door 
and  slid  to  the  platform. 

"Hear  that  shooting?''  cried  the  brakeman. 
"They  're  at  the  messenger.     They  '11  blow  him 

upr 

"Come  on,  fellers!"  cried  Hopalong,  leaping 
toward  the  door,  closely  followed  by  his  friends. 

They  stepped  over  the  obstruction  on  the  plat- 
form and  jumped  to  the  ground  on  the  side  of 
the  car  farthest  from  the  robbers. 

"Shoot  under  the  cars  for  legs,"  whispered 
Skinny.  "That  'U  bring  'em  down  where  we  can 
get  'em." 

"Which  is  a  good  idea,"  replied  Red,  dropping 
quickly  and  looking  under  the  car. 

"Somebody 's  going  to  be  surprised,  all  right," 
exulted  Hopalong. 

The  firing  on  the  other  side  of  the  train  was 
heavy,  being  for  the  purpose  of  terrifying  the 

[270] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

passengers  and  to  forestall  concerted  resistance. 
The  robbers  could  not  distinguish  between  the 
many  reports  and  did  not  know  they  were  being 
opposed,  or  that  two  of  their  number  were  dead. 

A  whinny  reached  Hopalong's  ears  and  he 
located  it  in  a  small  grove  ahead  of  him:  "Well, 
we  know  where  th'  cayuses  are  in  case  they  make 
a  break." 

A  white  and  scared  face  peered  out  of  the  cab- 
window  and  Hopalong  stopped  his  finger  just 
in  time,  for  the  inquisitive  man  wore  the  cap  of 
fireman. 

"You  idiot!"  muttered  the  gunman,  angrily. 
"Get  back!"  he  ordered. 

A  pair  of  legs  ran  swiftly  along  the  other 
side  of  the  car  and  Red  and  Skinny  fired  in- 
stantly. The  legs  bent,  their  owner  falling  for- 
ward behind  the  rear  truck,  where  he  was  screened 
from  sight. 

"They  had  it  their  own  way  before!"  gritted 
Skinny.  "Now  we  '11  see  if  they  can  stand  th' 
iron!" 

By  this  time  Hopalong  and  Red  were  crawl- 

[271] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

ing  under  the  express-car  and  were  so  preoccu- 
pied that  they  did  not  notice  the  faint  blue  streak 
of  smoke  immediately  over  their  heads.  Then 
Red  glanced  up  to  see  what  it  was  that  sizzed, 
saw  the  glowing  end  of  a  three-inch  fuse,  and 
blanched.  It  was  death  not  to  dare  and  his  hand 
shot  up  and  back,  and  the  dynamite  cartridge 
sailed  far  behind  him  to  the  edge  of  the  embank- 
ment, where  it  hung  on  a  bush. 

"Good!"  panted  Hopalong.  "We  '11  pay  'em 
for  thatl" 

"They  're  worse  'n  rustlers!" 

They  could  hear  the  messenger  running  about 
over  their  heads,  dragging  and  up-ending  heavy 
objects  against  the  doors  of  the  car,  and  Hopa- 
long laughed  grimly: 

"Luck 's  with  this  messenger,  all  right." 

"It  ought  to  be — he  's  a  fighter." 

"Where  are  they?  Have  they  tumbled  to  our 
game?" 

"They're  waiting  for  the  explosion,  you 
chump." 

[272] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

**Stay  where  you  are  then.  Wait  till  they 
pome  out  to  see  what 's  th'  matter  with  it." 

Red  snorted:     "Wait  nothing!" 

"All  right,  then;  I  'm  with  you.  Get  out  of 
my  way." 

"I  Ve  been  in  situations  some  peculiar,  but  this 
beats  'em  all,"  Red  chuckled,  crawling  forward. 

The  robber  by  the  car  truck  revived  enough  to 
realize  that  something  was  radically  wrong,  and 
shouted  a  warning  as  he  raised  himself  on  his  el- 
bow to  fire  at  Skinny  but  the  alert  puncher  shot 
first. 

As  Hopalong  and  Red  emerged  from  beneath 
the  car  and  rose  to  their  feet  there  was  a  terrific 
explosion  and  they  were  knocked  to  the  ground, 
while  a  sudden,  heavy  shower  of  stones  and  earth 
rained  down  over  everything.  The  two  punch- 
ers were  not  hurt  and  they  arose  to  their  feet  in 
time  to  see  the  engineer  and  fireman  roll  out  of 
the  cab  and  crawl  along  the  track  on  their  hands 
and  knees,  dazed  and  weakened  by  the  concus- 
sion. 

[273] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Suddenly,  from  one  of  the  day-coaches,  a 
masked  man  looked  out,  saw  the  two  punchers, 
and  cried: 

"It 's  all  up!    Save  yourselves!'* 

As  Hopalong  and  Red  looked  around,  still 
dazed,  he  fired  at  them,  the  huUet  singing  past 
Hopalong's  ear.  Red  smothered  a  curse  and 
reeled  as  his  friend  grasped  him.  A  wound  over 
his  right  eye  was  hleeding  profusely  and  Hop- 
along's face  cleared  of  its  look  of  anxiety  when 
he  realized  that  it  was  not  serious. 

"They  creased  you!  Blamed  near  got  you  for 
keeps!"  he  cried,  wiping  away  the  blood  with  his 
sleeve. 

Red,  slightly  stunned,  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  about  confusedly.  "Who  done  that? 
Where  is  he?" 

"Don't  know,  but  I  '11  shore  find  out,"  Hop- 
along  replied.     "Can  you  stand  alone?" 

Red  pushed  himself  free  and  leaned  against 
the  car  for  support:  "Course  I  can!  Git  that 
cuss!" 

When  Skinny  heard  the  robber  shout  the  warn- 

[274] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

ing  he  wheeled  and  ran  back,  intently  watching 
the  windows  and  doors  of  the  car  for  trouble. 

"We  '11  finish  yore  tally  right  here!"  he  mut- 
tered. 

When  he  reached  the  smoker  he  turned  and 
went  towards  the  rear,  where  he  found  Lanky 
and  Billy  lying  under  the  platform.  Billy  was 
looking  back  and  guarding  their  rear,  while  his 
companion  watched  the  clump  of  trees  where  the 
second  herd  of  horses  was  known  to  be.  Just 
as  they  were  joined  by  their  foreman,  they  saw 
two  men  run  across  the  track,  fifty  yards  dis- 
tant, and  into  the  grove,  both  going  so  rapidly 
as  to  give  no  chance  for  a  shot  at  them. 

"There  they  are!"  shouted  Skinny,  opening 
fire  on  the  grove. 

At  that  instant  Hopalong  turned  the  rear  plat- 
form and  saw  the  brakeman  leap  out  of  the  door 
with  a  Winchester  in  his  hands.  The  puncher 
sprang  up  the  steps,  wrenched  the  rifle  from  its 
owner,  and,  tossing  it  to  Skinny,  cried:  "Here, 
this  is  better!" 

"Too  late,"  grunted  the  puncher,  looking  up, 

[275] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

but  Hopalong  had  become  lost  to  sight  among 
the  rocks  along  the  right  of  way.  "If  I  only 
had  this  a  minute  ago!"  he  grumbled. 

The  men  in  the  grove,  now  in  the  saddle, 
turned  and  opened  fire  on  the  group  by  the  train, 
driving  them  back  to  shelter.  Skinny,  taking 
advantage  of  the  cover  afforded,  ran  towards  the 
grove,  ordering  his  friends  to  spread  out  and  sur- 
round it;  but  it  was  too  late,  for  at  that  minute 
galloping  was  heard  and  it  grew  rapidly  fainter. 

Red  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  train: 
"Where 's  th'  rest  of  the  coyotes?" 

"Two  of  'em  got  away,"  Lanky  replied. 

"Ya-ho!"  shouted  Hopalong  from  the  grove. 
"Don't  none  of  you  fools  shoot!  I'm  coming 
out.     They  plumb  got  away!" 

"They  near  got  you.  Red,"  Skinny  cried. 

"Nears  don't  count,"  Red  laughed. 

"Did  you  ever  notice  Hopalong  when  he  's 
fighting  mad?"  asked  Lanky,  grinning  at  the 
man  who  was  leaving  the  woods.  "He  alius 
wears  his  sombrero  hanging  on  one  ear.  Look 
at  it  now!" 

[276] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

"Who  touched  off  that  cannon  some  time 
back?"  asked  Billy. 

"I  did.  It  was  an  anti-gravity  cartridge  what 
I  found  sizzling  on  a  rod  under  th'  floor  of  th' 
express  car,"  replied  Red. 

"Why  did  n't  you  pinch  out  th'  fuse  'stead  of 
blowing  everything  up,  you  half-breed?"  Lanky 
asked. 

"I  reckon  I  was  some  hasty,"  grinned  Red. 

"It  bio  wed  me  under  th'  car  an'  my  lid  through 
a  windy,"  cried  Billy.  "An'  Skinny,  he  went  up 
in  th'  air  like  a  shore-'nough  grasshopper." 

Hopalong  joined  them,  grinning  broadly: 
"Hey,  reckon  ridin'  in  th'  cars  ain't  so  bad  after 
all,  is  it?" 

"Holy  smoke!"  cried  Skinny.  "What 's  that 
a-popping?" 

Hopalong,  Colt  in  hand,  leaped  to  the  side  of 
the  train  and  looked  along  it,  the  others  close  be- 
hind him,  and  saw  the  fat  man  with  his  head  and 
arm  out  of  the  window,  blazing  away  into  the  air, 
which  increased  the  panic  in  the  coaches.  Hop- 
along grinned  and  fired  into  the  ground,  and  the 

[277] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

fat  man  nearly  dislocated  parts  of  his  anatomy 
by  his  hasty  disappearance. 

"Reckon  he  plumb  forgot  all  about  his  fine, 
six-dollar  gun  till  just  now,"  Skinny  laughed. 

"Oh,  he  's  making  good,"  Red  replied.  "He 
said  he  'd  take  a  hand  if  anything  busted  loose. 
It 's  a  good  thing  he  did  n't  come  to  life  while  me 
an'  Hoppy  was  under  his  windy  looking  for 
laigs." 

"Reckon  some  of  us  better  go  in  th'  cars  an' 
quiet  th'  stampede,"  Skinny  remarked,  mounting 
the  steps,  followed  by  Hopalong.  "They're 
shore  loco/' 

The  uproar  in  the  coach  ceased  abruptly  when 
the  two  punchers  stepped  through  the  door,  the 
inmates  shrinking  into  their  seats,  frightened 
into  silence.  Skinny  and  his  companion  did  not 
make  a  reassuring  sight,  for  they  were  grimy 
with  burned  powder  and  dust,  and  Hopalong's 
sleeve  was  stained  with  Red's  blood. 

"Oh,  my  jewels,  my  pretty  jewels,"  sobbed  a 
woman,  staring  at  Skinny  and  wringing  her 
hands. 

[278] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

"Ma'am,  we  shore  don't  want  yore  jewelry," 
replied  Skinny,  earnestly.  **Ca'm  yoreself;  we 
don't  want  nothin'." 

''I  don't  want  that!"  growled  Hopalong,  push- 
ing a  wallet  from  him.  "How  many  times  do 
you  want  us  to  tell  you  we  don't  want  nothin'? 
We  ain't  robbers;  we  licked  th'  robbers." 

Suddenly  he  stooped  and,  grasping  a  pair  of 
legs  which  protruded  into  the  aisle  obstructing 
the  passage,  straightened  up  and  backed  towards 
Red,  who  had  just  entered  the  car,  dragging  into 
sight  a  portly  gentleman,  who  kicked  and  strug- 
gled and  squealed,  as  he  grabbed  at  the  stanch- 
ions of  seats  to  stay  his  progress.  Red  stepped 
aside  between  two  seats  and  let  his  friend  pass, 
and  then  leaned  over  and  grasped  the  portly  gen- 
tleman's coat-collar.  He  tugged  energetically 
and  lifted  the  frightened  man  clear  of  the  aisle 
and  deposited  him  across  the  back  of  a  seat,  face 
down,  where  he  hung  balanced,  yelling  and  kick- 
ing. 

"Shut  yore  face,  you  cave-hunter!"  cried  Red 
in  disgust.     "Stop  that  infernal  noise!     You  fat 

[279] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

fellers  make  all  yore  noise  after  th'  fighting  is 
all  over!" 

The  man  on  the  seat,  suddenly  realizing  what 
a  sight  he  made,  rolled  off  his  perch  and  sat  up, 
now  more  angry  than  frightened.  He  glared  at 
Red's  grinning  face  and  sputtered: 

*'It's  an  outrage!  It's  an  outrage!  I'll 
have  you  hung  for  this  day's  work,  young  man!" 

"That's  right,"  grinned  Hopalong.  "He 
shore  deserves  it.  I  told  him  more  'n  once  that 
he  'd  get  strung  up  some  day." 

**Yes,  and  you,  too!" 

"Please  don't,"  begged  Hopalong.  "I  don't 
wantt'  die!" 

Tense  as  the  past  quarter  of  an  hour  had  been 
a  titter  ran  along  the  car  and,  fuming  impotently, 
the  portly  gentleman  fled  into  the  smoker. 

"I  '11  bet  be  bad  a  six-dollar  gun,  too,"  laughed 
Red. 

*'I  '11  bet  he  's  calling  hisself  names  right  about 
now,"  Hopalong  replied.  Then  he  turned  to  re- 
ply to  a  woman:  "Yes,  ma'am,  we  did.  But 
they  was  n't  real  badmen." 

[280] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

At  this  a  young  woman,  who  was  about  as 
pretty  as  any  young  woman  could  be,  arose  and 
ran  to  Hopalong  and,  impulsively  throwing  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  cried:  "You  brave  man! 
You  hero!     You  dear!" 

"Skinny !  Red !  Help !"  cried  the  frightened 
and  embarrassed  puncher,  struggling  to  get  free. 

She  kissed  him  on  the  cheek,  which  flamed  even 
more  red  as  he  made  frantic  efforts  to  keep  his 
head  back. 

"Ma'am!*'  he  cried,  desperately.  "Leggo, 
ma'am!    Leggo!" 

"Oh!  Ho!  Ho!"  roared  Red,  weak  from  his 
mirth  and,  not  looking  to  see  what  he  was  doing, 
he  dropped  into  a  seat  beside  another  woman. 
He  was  on  his  feet  instantly;  fearing  that  he 
would  have  to  go  through  the  ordeal  his  friend 
was  going  through,  he  fled  down  the  aisle,  closely 
followed  by  Hopalong,  who  by  this  time  had 
managed  to  break  away.  Skinny  backed  off 
suspiciously  and  kept  close  watch  on  Hopalong's 
admirer. 

Just  then  the  brakeman  entered  the  car,  grin- 

[281] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

ning,  and  Skinny  asked  about  the  condition  of 
the  conductor. 

"Oh,  he  's  all  right  now/'  the  brakeman  replied. 
*'They  shot  him  through  the  arm,  but  he  's  re- 
paired and  out  bossin'  the  job  of  clearin'  the 
rocks  off  the  track.  He  's  a  little  shaky  yet,  but 
he  'U  come  around  all  right." 

**That  's  good.     I  'm  shore  glad  to  hear  it." 

"Won't  you  wear  this  pin  as  a  small  token  of 
my  gratitude?"  asked  a  voice  at  Skinny 's  shoul- 
der. 

He  wheeled  and  raised  his  sombrero,  a  flush 
stealing  over  his  face : 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,  but  I  don't  want  no  pay. 
We  was  plumb  glad  to  do  it." 

"But  this  is  not  pay !  It 's  just  a  trifling  token 
of  my  appreciation  of  your  courage,  just  some- 
thing to  remind  you  of  it.  I  shall  feel  hurt  if 
you  refuse." 

Her  quick  fingers  had  pinned  it  to  his  shirt 
while  she  spoke  and  he  thanked  her  as  well  as  his 
embarrassment  would  permit.  Then  there  was 
a  rush  toward  him  and,  having  visions  of  a  shirt 

1282] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

looking  like  a  jeweler's  window,  he  turned  and 
fled  from  the  car,  crying:  "Pin  'em  on  th' 
brakeman!" 

He  found  the  outfit  working  at  a  pile  of  rocks 
on  the  track,  under  the  supervision  of  the  con- 
ductor, and  Hopalong  looked  up  apprehensively 
at  Skinny's  approach. 

"Lord!"  he  ejaculated,  grinning  sheepishly,  "I 
was  some  scairt  you  was  a  woman." 

Red  dropped  the  rock  he  was  carrying  and 
laughed  derisively. 

"Oh,  yo 're  a  brave  man,  you  are!  scared  to 
death  by  a  purty  female  girl!  If  I  'd  'a'  been 
you  I  would  n't  'a'  run,  not  a  step !" 

Hopalong  looked  at  him  witheringly:  "Oh, 
no !  You  would  n't  'a'  run !  You  'd  dropped 
dead  in  your  tracks,  you  would!" 

"You  was  both  of  you  a  whole  lot  scared," 
Skinny  laughed.  Then,  turning  to  the  con- 
ductor:    "How  do  you  feel,  Simms?" 

"Oh,  I  'm  all  right :  but  it  took  the  starch  out 
of  me  for  awhile." 

"Well,  I  don't  wonder,  not  a  bit." 

[283] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

**You  fellows  certainly  don't  waste  any  time 
getting  busy/'  Simms  laughed. 

''That's  the  secret  of  gun-fightin',"  replied 
Skinny. 

"Well,  you  're  a  fine  crowd  all  right.  Any 
time  you  want  to  go  any  place  when  you  're 
broke,  climb  aboard  my  train  and  I  '11  see't  you 
get  there." 

"Much  obliged." 

Simms  turned  to  the  express-car:  "Hey, 
Jackson!  You  can  open  up  now  if  you  want 
to." 

But  the  express-messenger  was  suspicious, 
fearing  that  the  conductor  was  talking  with  a 
gun  at  his  head:  "You  go  to  h — ^11"  he  called 
back. 

"Honest!"  laughed  Simms.  *'Some  cowboy 
friends  o'  mine  licked  the  gang.  Didn't  you 
hear  that  dynamite  go  off?  If  they  hadn't 
fished  it  out  from  mider  your  feet  you  'd  be 
communing  with  the  angels  'bout  now." 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  response,  and  then 
Jackson  could  be  heard  dragging  things  away 

[284] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

from  the  door.  When  he  was  told  of  the  car- 
tridge and  Red  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  as 
the  man  who  had  saved  his  life,  he  leaped  to  the 
ground  and  ran  to  where  that  puncher  was  en- 
gaged in  carrying  the  ever-silenced  robbers  to 
the  baggage-car.  He  shook  hands  with  Red, 
who  laughed  deprecatingly,  and  then  turned  and 
assisted  him. 

Hopalong  came  up  and  grinned:  "Say, 
there  's  some  cayuses  in  that  grove  up  th'  track; 
shall  I  go  up  an'  get  'em?" 

"Shore  I  I  '11  go  an'  get  'em  with  you,"  replied 
Skinny. 

In  the  grove  they  found  seven  horses  pick- 
eted, two  of  them  being  pack-animals,  and  they 
led  them  forth  and  reached  the  train  as  the  others 
came  up. 

"Well,  here  's  five  saddled  cayuses,  an'  two  oth- 
ers," Skinny  grinned. 

"Then  we  can  ride  th'  rest  of  th'  way  in  th' 
saddle  instead  of  in  that  blamed  train,"  Red 
eagerly  suggested. 

"That 's  just  what  we  can  do,"  replied  Skinny. 

[285] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Leather  beats  car-seats  any  time.  How  far 
are  we  from  Sandy  Creek,  Simms?" 

"About  twenty  miles." 

"An'  we  can  ride  along  th'  track,  too,"  sug- 
gested Hopalong. 

"We  shore  can,"  laughed  Skinny,  shaking 
hands  with  the  train-crew:  *'We 're  some  glad 
we  rode  with  you  this  trip :  we  Ve  had  a  fine  time/' 

"And  we're  glad  you  did,"  Simms  replied, 
"for  that  ain't  no  joke,  either." 

Hopalong  and  the  others  had  mounted  and 
were  busy  waving  their  sombreros  and  bowing 
to  the  heads  and  handkerchiefs  which  were  dec- 
orating the  car-windows. 

"All  aboard!"  shouted  the  conductor,  and 
cheers  and  good  wishes  rang  out  and  were  replied 
to  by  bows  and  waving  of  sombreros.  Then 
Hopalong  jerked  his  gun  loose  and  emptied  it 
into  the  air,  his  companions  doing  likewise.  Sud- 
denly five  reports  rang  out  from  the  smoker  and 
they  cheered  the  fat  man  as  he  waved  at  them. 
They  sat  quietly  and  watched  the  train  until  the 
last  handkerchief  became  lost  to  sight  around  a 

[286] 


THE  HOLD-UP 

curve,  but  the  screeching  whistle  could  be  heard 
for  a  long  time. 

"Gee!"  laughed  Hopalong  as  they  rode  on 
after  the  train,  "won't  th'  fellers  home  on  th' 
ranch  be  a  whole  lot  sore  when  they  hears  about 
the  good  time  what  they  missed!" 


[287] 


XI 
SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

THE  long  train  ride  and  the  excitement  were 
over  and  the  outfit,  homeward  bound,  loped 
along  the  trail,  noisily  discussing  their  exciting 
and  humorous  experiences  and  laughingly  com- 
mented upon  Hopalong's  decision  to  follow  them 
later.  They  could  not  understand  why  he  should 
be  interested  in  a  town  like  Sandy  Creek  after 
a  week  spent  in  the  city. 

Back  in  the  little  cow-town  their  friend  was 
standing  in  the  office  of  the  hotel,  gazing  abstract- 
edly out  of  the  window.  His  eyes  caught  and 
focused  on  a  woman  who  was  walking  slowly 
along  the  other  side  of  the  square  and  finally 
paused  before  McCalPs  "Palace,''  a  combination 
saloon,  dance  and  gambling  hall.  He  smiled 
cynically  as  his  memory  ran  back  over  those  other 
women  he  had  seen  in  cow-towns  and  wondered 
how  it  was  that  the  men  of  the  ranges  could 

[288] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

rise  to  a  chivalry  that  was  famed.  At  that  dis- 
tance she  was  strikingly  pretty.  Her  complex- 
ion was  an  alluring  blend  of  color  that  the  gold 
of  her  hair  crowned  like  a  burst  of  sunshine.  He 
noticed  that  her  eyebrows  were  too  prominent, 
too  black  and  heavy  to  be  Nature's  contribution. 
And  there  was  about  her  a  certain  forwardness,  a 
dash  that  bespoke  no  bashful  Miss;  and  her 
clothes,  though  well-fitting,  somehow  did  not 
please  his  untrained  eye.  A  sudden  impulse  seized 
him  and  he  strode  to  the  door  and  crossed  the 
dusty  square,  avoiding  the  piles  of  rusted  cans, 
broken  bottles  and  other  rubbish  that  littered  it. 

She  had  become  interested  in  a  dingy  window 
but  turned  to  greet  him  with  a  resplendent  smile 
as  he  stepped  to  the  wooden  walk.  He  noted 
with  displeasure  that  the  white  teeth  displayed 
two  shining  panels  of  gold  that  drew  his  eyes 
irresistibly;  and  then  and  there  he  hated  gold 
teeth. 

"Hello,"  she  laughed.  "I  'm  glad  to  see  some- 
body that 's  alive  in  this  town.     Ain't  it  awful?" 

He  instinctively  removed  his  sombrero  and  was 

[289] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

conscious  that  his  habitual  bashfulness  in  the 
presence  of  members  of  her  sex  was  somehow 
lacking.  "Why,  I  don't  see  nothin'  extra  dead 
about  it,"  he  replied.  "Most  of  these  towns  are 
this  way  in  daylight.  Th'  moths  ain't  out  yet. 
You  should  'a'  been  here  last  night!" 

"Yes?  But  you  're  out;  an'  you  look  like  you 
might  be  able  to  fly,"  she  replied. 

"Yes;  I  suppose  so,"  he  laughed. 

"I  see  you  wear  two  of  'em,"  she  said,  glan- 
cing at  his  guns.  "Ain't  one  of  them  things 
enough?" 

"One  usually  is,  mostly,"  he  assented.  "But 
I  'm  pig-headed,  so  I  wears  two." 

"Ain't  it  awful  hard  to  use  two  of  'em  at  once?" 
she  asked,  her  tone  flattering.  "Then  you're 
one  of  them  two-gun  men  I  've  heard  about,  ain't 
you?" 

"An'  seen?"  he  smiled. 

"Yes,  I  've  seen  a  couple.  Where  you  goin' 
so  early?" 

"Just  lookin'  th'  town  over,"  he  answered, 
glancing  over  her  shoulder  at  a  cub  of  a  cow- 

[290] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

puncher  who  had  opened  the  door  of  the  "Re- 
treat," but  stopped  in  his  tracks  when  he  saw  the 
couple  in  front  of  McCalFs.  There  was  a  look 
of  surprised  interest  on  the  cub's  face,  and  it 
swiftly  changed  to  one  of  envious  interest.  Hop- 
along's  glance  did  not  linger,  but  swept  care- 
lessly along  the  row  of  shacks  and  back  to  his 
companion's  face  without  betraying  his  discovery. 

"Well;  you  can  look  it  over  in  about  ten  sec- 
onds, from  th'  outside,"  she  rejoined.  "An'  it 's 
so  dusty  out  here.  My  throat  is  awful  dry  al- 
ready." 

He  had  n't  noticed  any  dust  in  the  air,  but  he 
nodded.     "Yes;  thirsty?" 

"Well,  it  ain't  polite  or  ladylike  to  say  yes," 
she  demurred,  "but  I  really  am." 

He  held  open  the  door  of  the  "Palace"  and 
preceded  her  to  the  dance  hall,  where  she  rippled 
the  keys  of  the  old  piano  as  she  swept  past  it. 
The  order  given  and  served,  he  sipped  at  his  glass 
and  carried  on  his  share  of  a  light  conversation 
until,  suddenly,  he  arose  and  made  his  apologies. 
"I  got  to  attend  to  somethin',"  he  regretted  as  he 

[291] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

picked  up  his  sombrero  and  turned.  *'See  you 
later." 

"Why !"  she  exclaimed,  "I  was  just  beginnin' 
to  get  acquainted!" 

"A  moth  without  money  ain't  no  good,"  he 
smiled.  "I  'm  goin'  out  to  find  th'  money. 
When  I  'm  in  good  company  I  like  to  spend. 
See  you  later?"  He  bowed  as  she  nodded,  and 
departed. 

Emerging  from  McCall's  he  glanced  at  the 
"Retreat"  and  sauntered  toward  it.  When  he 
entered  he  found  the  cub  resting  his  elbows  on 
the  pine  bar,  arguing  with  the  bartender  about 
the  cigars  sold  in  the  establishment.  The  cub 
glanced  up  and  appealed  to  the  newcomer. 
"Ain't  they?"  he  demanded. 

Hopalong  nodded.  "I  reckon  so.  But  what 
is  it  about?" 

"These  cigars,"  explained  the  cub,  ruefully. 
"I  was  just  sayin'  there  ain't  a  good  one  in  town." 

"Ybu  lose,"  replied  Hopalong.  "Are  you 
shore  you  knows  a  good  cigar  when  you  smokes 
it?" 

[292] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

"I  know  it  so  well  that  I  ain't  found  one  since 
I  left  Kansas  City.  You  said  I  lose.  Do  you 
know  one  well  enough  to  be  a  judge?" 

Hopalong  reached  to  his  vest  pocket,  extracted 
a  cigar  and  handed  it  to  the  cub,  who  took  it  hesi- 
tatingly. "Why,  I'm  much  obliged.  I — I 
did  n't  mean  that — ^you  know." 

Hopalong  nodded  and  rearranged  the  cigar's 
twin-brothers  in  his  pocket.  He  would  be  re- 
lieved when  they  were  smoked,  for  they  made 
him  nervous  with  their  frailty.  The  cub  lighted 
the  cigar  and  an  unaffected  grin  of  delight 
wreathed  his  features  as  the  smoke  issued  froni 
his  nostrils.  ''Who  sells  'em?"  he  demanded, 
excitedly. 

"Corson  an'  Lukins,  up  th'  hill  from  th'  depot," 
answered  Hopalong.     "Like  it?" 

"Like  it!  Why,  stranger,  I  used  to  spend 
most  of  my  week's  pocket  money  for  these."  He 
paused  and  stared  at  the  smiling  puncher.  "Did 
you  say  Corson  an'  Lukins?"  he  demanded  in- 
credulously. "Well,  I  '11  be  hanged!  When 
was  you  there?" 

[293] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Last  week.  Here,  bartender;  liquor  for  all 
hands/* 

The  cub  touched  the  glass  to  his  lips  and  waved 
his  hand  at  a  table.  Seated  across  from  the 
stranger  with  the  heaven-sent  cigars  he  ordered 
the  second  round,  and  when  he  went  to  pay  for 
it  he  drew  out  a  big  roll  of  bills  and  peeled  off 
the  one  on  the  outside. 

Hopalong  frowned.  "Sonny,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "it  ain't  none  of  my  affair,  but  you 
oughta  put  that  wad  away  an'  forget  you  have 
it  when  out  in  public.  You  shouldn't  tempt 
yore  feller  men  like  that." 

The  cub  laughed:  "Oh,  I  had  my  eye  teeth 
cut  long  ago.     Play  a  little  game?" 

Hopalong  was  amused.  "Didn't  I  just  tell 
you  not  to  tempt  yore  feller  men?" 

The  cub  grinned.  "I  reckon  it  '11  fade  quick, 
anyhow;  but  it  took  me  six  months'  hard  work  to 
get  it  together.  It  '11  last  about  six  days,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"Six  hours,  if  you  plays  every  man  that  comes 
along,"  corrected  Hopalong. 

[294] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

*Well,  mebby,"  admitted  the  cub.  "Say: 
that  was  one  fine  girl  you  was  talkin'  to,  all 
right,"  he  grinned. 

Hopalong  studied  him  a  moment.  "Not 
meanin'  no  offense,  what 's  yore  name?" 

"Sammy  Porter;  why?" 

"Well,  Sammy,"  remarked  Hopalong  as  he 
arose.  "I  reckon  we  'U  meet  again  before  I  leave. 
You  was  remarkin'  she  was  a  fine  girl.  I  admit 
it;  she  was.  So  long,"  and  he  started  for  the 
door. 

Sammy  flushed.  "Why,  I — I  didn't  mean 
nothinM"  he  exclaimed.  "I  just  happened  to 
think  about  her — that 's  all!  You  know,  I  saw 
you  talkin'  to  her.  Of  course,  you  saw  her  first," 
he  explained. 

Hopalong  turned  and  smiled  kindly.  "You 
didn't  say  nothin'  to  offend  me.  I  was  just 
startin'  when  you  spoke.  But  as  long  as  you 
mentioned  it  I  '11  say  that  my  interest  in  th'  lady 
was  only  brief.  Her  interest  in  me  was  th'  same. 
Beyond  lettin'  you  know  that  I  '11  add  that  I  don't 
generally  discuss  wimmin.     I  '11  see  you  later," 

[295] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

and,  nodding  cheerily,  he  went  out  and  closed  the 
door  behind  him. 

Hopalong  leaned  lazily  against  the  hotel,  out 
of  reach  of  the  spring  wind,  which  was  still  sharp, 
and  basked  in  the  warmth  of  the  timid  sun.  He 
regarded  the  little  cow-town  cynically  but  smil- 
ingly and  found  no  particular  fault  with  it. 
Existing  because  the  railroad  construction  work 
of  the  season  before  had  chanced  to  stop  on  the 
eastern  bank  of  the  deceptive  creek,  and  because 
of  the  nearness  of  three  drive  trails,  one  of  them 
important,  the  town  had  sprung  up,  mushroom- 
like, almost  in  a  night.  Facing  on  the  square 
were  two  general  stores,  the  railroad  station  and 
buildings,  two  restaurants,  a  dozen  saloons  where 
gambling  either  was  the  main  attraction  or  an 
ambitious  side-line,  McCalFs  place  and  a  barber 
shop  with  a  dingy,  bullet-peppered  red-and- white 
pole  set  close  to  the  door.  Between  the  barber 
shop  and  McCalFs  was  a  narrow  space,  and  the 
windows  of  the  two  buldings,  while  not  opposite, 

[296] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

opened  on  the  little  strip  of  ground  separating 
them. 

Rubbing  a  hand  across  his  chin  he  regarded  the 
barber  shop  thoughtfully  and  finally  pushed 
away  from  the  sun-warmed  wall  of  the  hotel  and 
started  lazily  toward  the  red-and- white  pole.  As 
he  did  so  the  tin-panny  notes  of  a  piano  redoubled 
and  a  woman's  voice  shrilly  arose  to  a  high  note, 
flatted,  broke  and  swiftly  dropped  an  octave. 
He  squirmed  and  looked  speculatively  along  the 
westward  trail,  wondering  how  far  away  his  out- 
fit was  and  why  he  had  not  gone  with  them.  An- 
other soaring  note  that  did  not  flat  and  a  crash- 
ing chord  from  the  piano  were  followed  by  a 
burst  of  uproarious,  reckless  laughter.  Hopa- 
long  frowned,  snapped  his  fingers  in  sudden  de- 
cision and  stepped  briskly  toward  the  barber  shop 
as  the  piano  began  anew. 

Entering  quietly  and  closing  the  door  softly, 
he  glanced  appraisingly  through  the  windows  and 
made  known  his  wants  in  a  low  voice.  "I  want 
a  shave,  haircut,  shampoo,  an'  anythin'  else  you 

[297] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

can  think  of.  I  'm  tired  an'  don't  want  to  talk. 
Take  yore  own  time  an'  do  a  good  job ;  an'  if  I  'm 
asleep  when  yo're  through,  don't  wake  me  till 
somebody  else  wants  th'  chair.  Savvy?  All 
right — start  in." 

In  McCall's  a  stolid  bartender  listened  to  the 
snatches  of  conversation  that  filtered  under  the 
door  to  the  dance  hall  alongside  and  on  his  face 
there  at  times  flickered  the  suggestion  of  a  cyni- 
cal smile.  A  heavy,  dark  complexioned  man 
entered  from  the  street  and  glanced  at  the  closed 
door  of  the  dance  hall.  The  bartender  nodded 
and  held  up  a  staying  hand,  after  which  he  shoved 
a  drink  across  the  bar.  The  heavy-set  man  care- 
fully wiped  a  few  drops  of  spilled  liquor  from  his 
white,  tapering  hands  and  seated  himself  with  a 
sigh  of  relief,  and  became  busy  with  his  thoughts 
until  the  time  should  come  when  he  would  be 
needed. 

On  the  other  side  of  that  door  a  little  comedy 
was  being  enacted.  The  musician,  a  woman, 
toyed  with  the  keys  of  the  warped  and  scratched 
piano,  the  dim  light  from  the  shaded  windows 

[298] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

mercifully  hiding  the  paint  and  the  hardness  of 
her  face  and  helping  the  jewelry,  with  which  her 
hands  were  covered,  keep  its  tawdry  secret. 

"I  don't  see  what  makes  you  so  touchy," 
grumbled  Sammy  in  a  pout.  "I  ain't  goin'  to 
hurt  you  if  I  touch  yore  arm."  He  was  flushed 
and  there  was  a  suspicious  unsteadiness  in  his 
voice. 

She  laughed.  "Why,  I  thought  you  wanted 
to  talk?" 

"I  did,"  he  admitted,  sullenly;  "but  there's  a 
limit  to  most  wants.  Oh,  well:  go  ahead  an' 
play.  That  last  piece  was  all  right;  but  give  us 
a  gallop  or  a  mazurka — anything  lively.  Better 
yet,  a  caprice:  it 's  in  keepin'  with  yore  tempera- 
ment. If  you  was  to  try  to  interpert  mine  you  'd 
have  to  dig  it  out  of  Verdi  an'  toll  a  funeral 
bell." 

"Say;  who  told  you  so  much  about  music?" 
she  demanded. 

"Th'  man  that  makes  harmonicas,"  he  grinned. 
He  arose  and  took  a  step  toward  her,  but  she  re- 
treated swiftly,  smiling.     "Now  behave  yourself, 

[299] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

for  a  little  while,  at  least.    What 's  th'  matter 
with  you,  anyhow?    What  makes  you  so  silly?" 

"You,  of  course.  I  don't  see  no  purty  wimmin 
out  on  th'  range,  an'  you  went  to  my  head  th' 
minute  I  laid  eyes  on  you.  I  ain't  in  no  hurry 
to  leave  this  town,  now  nohow." 

"I  'm  afraid  you  're  going  to  be  awful  when 
you  grow  up.  But  you  're  a  nice  boy  to  say  such 
pretty  things.  Here,"  she  said,  filhng  his  glass 
and  handing  it  to  him,  ''let 's  drink  another  toast 
— ^you  know  such  nice  ones." 

"Yes;  an'  if  I  don't  run  out  of  'em  purty  soon 
I  '11  have  to  hunt  a  solid,  immovable  corner  some- 
wheres;  an'  there  ain't  nothin'  solid  or  immovable 
about  this  room  at  present,"  he  growled.  "'What 
you  alius  drinkin'  to  somethin'  for?  Well,  here's 
a  toast — I  don't  know  any  more  fancy  ones. 
Here 's  to — your 

"That's  nicer  than — oh,  pshaw!"  she  ex- 
claimed, pouting.  "An'  you  wouldn't  drink  a 
full  glass  to  that  one.  You  must  think  I  'm  nice, 
when  you  renig  like  that!  Don't  tell  me  any 
more  pretty  things — an'  stop  right  where  you 

[800] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

are!  Think  you  can  hang  onto  me  after  that? 
Well,  that's  better;  why  didn't  you  do  it  th' 
first  time?  You  can  be  a  nice  boy  when  you 
want  to." 

He  flushed  angrily.  "Will  you  stop  callin' 
me  a  boy?"  he  demanded  unsteadily.  "I  ain't 
no  kid!  I  do  a  man's  work,  earn  a  man's  pay, 
an'  I  spend  it  like  a  man." 

"An'  drink  a  boy's  drink,"  she  teased. 
"You  '11  grow  up  some  day."  She  reached  for- 
ward and  filled  his  glass  again,  for  an  instant 
letting  her  cheek  touch  his.  Swiftly  evading 
him  she  laughed  and  patted  him  on  the  head. 
"Here,  man,''  she  taunted,  "drink  this  if  you 
dare!" 

He  frowned  at  her  but  gulped  down  the  liquor. 
"There,  like  a  fool!"  he  grumbled,  bitterly. 
"You  tryin'  to  get  me  drunk?"  he  demanded  sud- 
denly in  a  heavy  voice. 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  regarded  him 
coldly.  "It  will  do  me  no  good.  Why  should  I  ? 
I  merely  wanted  to  see  if  you  would  take  a  dare, 
if  you  were  a  man.     You  are  either  not  sober 

[301] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

now,  or  you  are  insultingly  impolite.  I  don't 
care  to  waste  any  more  words  or  time  with  you," 
and  she  turned  haughtily  toward  the  door. 

He  had  leaned  against  the  piano,  but  now  he 
lurched  forward  and  cried  out.  "I  'm  sorry  if 
I  hurt  yore  feelin's  that  way — I  shore  didn't 
mean  to.  Ain't  we  goin'  to  make  up?"  he  asked, 
anxiously. 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  she  demanded,  pausing 
and  looking  around. 

"You  know  I  do,  Annie.  Le's  make  up — 
come  on ;  le's  make  up." 

"Well;  I '11  try  you,  an' see." 

"Play  some  more.  You  play  beautiful,"  he 
assured  her  with  heavy  gravity. 

"I'm  tired  of — but,  say:  Can  you  play 
poker?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"Why,  shore;  who  can't?" 

"Well,  I  can't,  for  one.  I  want  to  learn,  so  I 
can  win  my  money  back  from  Jim,  He  taught 
me,  but  all  I  had  time  to  learn  was  how  to  lose." 

Sammy  regarded  her  in  puzzled  surprise  and 
gradually  the  idea  became  plain.     "Did  he  teach 

[302] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

you,  an'  win  money  from  you?  Did  he  keep 
it?"  he  finally  blurted,  his  face  flushed  a  deeper 
red  from  anger. 

She  nodded.     "Why,  yes;  why?" 

He  looked  around  for  his  sombrero,  muttering 
savagely. 

''Where  you  goin'?"  she  asked  in  surprise. 

"To  get  it  back.  He  ain't  goin'  to  keep  it,  th' 
coyote!" 

"Why,  he  won't  give  it  back  to  you  if  he 
would  n't  to  me.     Anyhow,  he  won  it." 

''Won  it!"  he  snapped.  "He  stole  it,  that's 
how  much  he  won  it.  He  '11  give  it  back  or  get 
shot." 

"Now  look  here,"  she  said,  quickly.  "You 
ain't  goin'  gunnin'  for  no  friend  of  mine.  If 
you  want  to  get  that  money  for  me,  an'  I  certainly 
can  use  it  about  now,  you  got  to  try  some  other 
way.  Say!  Why  don't  you  win  it  from  him?" 
she  exulted.  "That 's  th'  way — get  it  back  th' 
way  it  went." 

He  weighed  her  words  and  a  grin  slowly  crept 
across  his  face.     "Why,  I  reckon  you  called  it, 

[303] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

that  time,  Annie.  That 's  th'  way  I  '11  try  first, 
anyhow,  Li'l  Girl.  Where  is  this  good  friend  of 
yourn  that  steals  yore  money?  Where  is  this 
feller?" 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  inquiry  the  heavy-set  man 
strolled  in,  humming  cheerily.  And  as  he  did 
so  the  sleepy  occupant  of  the  barber's  chair 
slowly  awoke,  rubbed  his  eyes,  stretched  luxu- 
riously and,  paying  his  bill,  loafed  out  and  lazily 
sauntered  down  the  street,  swearing  softly. 

"Why,  here  he  is  now,"  laughed  the  woman. 
"You  must  'a'  heard  us  talkin'  about  you,  Jim. 
I  'm  goin'  to  get  my  money  back — this  is  Mr. 
Porter,  Jim,  who  's  goin'  to  do  it." 

The  gambler  smiled  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"Howd'y,  Mr.  Porter,"  he  said. 

Sammy  glared  at  him :  "Put  yore  paw  down," 
he  said,  thickly.  "I  ain't  shakin'  ban's  with  no 
dogs  or  tin-horns." 

The  gambler  recoiled  and  flushed,  fighting  hard 
to  repress  his  anger.  "What  you  mean?"  he 
growled,  furiously. 

"What  I  said.     If  you  want  revenge  sit  down 

[304] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

there  an'  play,  if  you  Ve  got  th'  nerve  to  play 
with  a  man.  I  never  let  no  coyote  steal  a 
woman's  money,  an'  I  'm  goin'  to  get  Annie  her 
twenty.     Savvy?" 

The  gambler's  reply  was  a  snarl.  "Play!"  he 
sneered.  "I  '11  play,  all  right.  It  '11  take 
more  'n  a  sassy  kid  to  get  that  money  back,  too. 
I  'm  goin'  to  take  yore  last  red  cent.  You  can't 
talk  to  me  like  that  an'  get  it  over.  An'  don't 
let  me  hear  you  call  her  'Annie'  no  more,  neither. 
Yo  're  too  cussed  familiar!" 

Her  hand  on  Sammy's  arm  stopped  the  draw 
and  he  let  the  gun  drop  back  into  the  holster, 
"No!"  she  whispered.  "Make  a  fool  of  him, 
Sammy!     Beat  him  at  his  own  game." 

Sammy  nodded  and  scowled  blackly.  "I  call 
th'  names  as  suits  me,"  he  retorted.  "When  I 
see  you  on  th'  street  I  'm  goin'  to  call  you  some 
that  I  'm  savin'  up  now  because  a  lady  's  present. 
They  're  hefty,  too." 

At  first  he  won,  but  always  small  amounts. 
Becoming  reckless,  he  plunged  heavily  on  a  fair 
hand  and  lost.     He  plunged  again  on  a  better 

[305] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

hand  and  lost.  Then  he  steadied  as  much  as  his 
befuddled  brain  would  permit  and  played  a  care- 
ful game,  winning  a  small  pot.  Another  small 
winning  destroyed  his  caution  and  he  plunged 
again,  losing  heavily.  Steadying  himself  once 
more  he  began  a  new  deal  with  excess  caution 
and  was  bluffed  out  of  the  pot,  the  gambler 
sneeringly  showing  his  cards  as  he  threw  them 
down.  Sammy  glanced  around  to  say  something 
to  the  woman,  but  found  she  had  gone.  '*Aw, 
never  mind  her !"  growled  his  opponent.  "She  '11 
be  back — she  can't  stay  away  from  a  kid  like 

you." 

The  woman  was  passing  through  the  barroom 
and,  winking  at  the  bartender,  opened  the  door 
and  stepped  to  the  street.  She  smiled  as  she 
caught  sight  of  the  limping  stranger  coming 
toward  her.  He  might  have  found  money,  but 
she  was  certain  he  had  found  something  else  and 
in  generous  quantities.  He  removed  his  som- 
brero with  an  exaggerated  sweep  of  his  hand  and 
hastened  to  meet  her,  walking  with  the  conscious 
erectness  of  a  man  whose  feet  are  the  last  part 

[806] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

of  him  to  succumb.  "Hullo,  Sugar,"  he  grinned. 
''I  found  some,  a'right.  Now  we  '11  have  some 
music.     Come  long." 

"There  ain't  no  hurry,"  she  answered.  ''We  '11 
take  a  little  walk  first." 

"No,  we  won't.  We  '11  have  some  music  an' 
somethin'  to  drink.  If  you  won't  make  th'  music, 
I  will;  or  shoot  up  th'  machine.  Come  'long, 
Sugar,"  he  leered,  pushing  open  the  door  with  a 
resounding  slam.  He  nodded  to  the  bartender 
and  apologized.  "No  harm  meant.  Friend.  It 
sort  a  slipped;  jus'  slipped,  tha's  all.  Th'  young 
lady  an'  me  is  goin'  to  have  some  music.  What? 
All  right  for  you,  Sugar!  Then  I'll  make  it 
myself,"  and  he  paraded  stifHy  toward  the  inner 
door. 

The  bartender  leaned  suddenly  forward. 
"Keep  out  of  there  I     You  '11  bust  that  pianner!" 

The  puncher  stopped  with  a  jerk,  swung  pon- 
derously on  his  heel  and  leveled  a  forefinger  at 
the  dispenser  of  drinks.  "I  won't,"  he  said. 
"An'  if  I  do,  I  '11  pay  for  it.  Come  on,  Sugar 
— le's  play  th'  old  thing,  jus'  for  spite."     Grasp- 

[807] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

ing  her  arm  he  gently  but  firmly  escorted  her  into 
the  dance  hall  and  seated  her  at  the  piano.  As  he 
straightened  up  he  noticed  the  card  players  and, 
bowing  low  to  her,  turned  and  addressed  them. 

"Gents,"  he  announced,  bowing  again,  "we  are 
goin'  to  have  a  li'l  music  an'  we  hopes  you  won't 
objec'.  Not  that  we  gives  a  d — ^n,  but  we  jus' 
hopes  you  won't."  He  laughed  loudly  at  his 
joke  and  leaned  against  the  piano.  "Let  'er  go," 
he  cried,  beating  time.  "Allaman  lef  an'  ladies 
change!  Swing  yore  partner's  gal — I  mean, 
swing  some  other  gal :  but  what 's  th'  difF'rence  ? 
All  join  ban's  an'  hop  to  th'  middle — ^nopel 
It 's  all  ban's  roun'  an'  swing  'em  again.  But  it 
don't  make  no  difF'rence,  does  it,  Lulu?"  He 
whooped  loudly  and  marched  across  the  room, 
executed  a  few  fancy  steps  and  marched  back 
again.  As  he  passed  the  card  table  Sammy 
threw  down  his  hand  and  arose  with  a  curse.  The 
marcher  stopped,  fiddled  a  bit  with  his  feet  until 
obtaining  his  balance,  and  then  regarded  the 
youth  quizzically.  "S'matter,  Sonny?"  he  in- 
quired. 

[S08] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

Sammy  scowled,  slowly  recognized  the  owner 
of  the  imported  cigars  and  shook  his  head.  "Big 
han's,  but  not  big  enough;  an'  I  lost  my  pile." 
Staggering  to  the  piano  he  plumped  down  on  a 
chair  near  it  and  watched  the  rippling  fingers  of 
the  player  in  drunken  interest. 

The  hilarious  cowpuncher,  leaning  backward 
perilously,  recovered  his  poise  for  a  moment  and 
then  lurched  forward  into  the  chair  the  youth  had 
just  left.  "Come  on,  pardner,"  he  grinned  across 
at  the  gambler.  "Le's  gamble.  I  been  honin' 
for  a  game,  an'  here  she  is."  He  picked  up  the 
cards,  shuffled  them  clumsily  and  pushed  them 
out  for  the  cut.  The  gambler  hesitated,  con- 
sidered and  then  turned  over  a  jack.  He  lost 
the  deal  and  shoved  out  a  quarter  without  inter- 
est. 

The  puncher  leaned  over,  looked  at  it  closely 
and  grinned.  ''Two  bits?  That  ain't  poker; 
that's — that's  dominoes!"  he  blurted,  angrily, 
with  the  quick  change  of  mood  of  a  man  in  his 
cups. 

"I  ain't  anxious  to  play,"  replied  the  gambler. 

[809] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"I  '11  kill  a  li'l  time  at  a  two-bit  game,  though. 
Otherwise  I  '11  quit." 

"A'right,"  replied  the  dealer.  "I  didn't  ex- 
pec'  nothin'  else  from  a  tin-horn,  no-how.  I  want 
two  cards  after  you  get  yourn."  The  gambler 
called  on  the  second  raise  and  smiled  to  himself 
when  he  saw  that  his  opponent  had  drawn  to  a 
pair  and  an  ace.  He  won  on  his  own  deal  and 
on  the  one  following. 

The  puncher  increased  the  ante  on  the  fourth 
deal  and  looked  up  inquiringly,  a  grin  on  his  face. 
"Le's  move  out  th'  infant  class,"  he  suggested. 

The  gambler  regarded  him  sharply.  "Well, 
th'  other  was  sorta  tender,"  he  admitted,  nodding. 

The  puncher  pulled  out  a  handful  of  gold 
coins  and  clumsily  tried  to  stalk  them,  which  he 
succeeded  in  doing  after  three  attempts.  He 
was  so  busy  that  he  did  not  notice  the  look  in  the 
other's  eyes.  Picking  up  his  hand  he  winked 
at  it  and  discarded  one.  "Goin'  to  raise  th'  ante 
a  few,"  he  chuckled.  "I  got  a  feelin'  I  'm  goin' 
t'  be  lucky."  When  the  card  was  dealt  to  him 
he  let  it  lay  and  bet  heavily.     The  gambler  saw 

[310] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

it  and  raised  in  turn,  and  the  puncher,  frowning 
in  indecision,  nodded  his  head  wisely  and  met  it, 
calling  as  he  did  so.  His  four  fives  were  just 
two  spots  shy  to  win  and  he  grumbled  loudly  at 
his  luck.  "Huh,"  he  finished,  "she  's  a  jack  pot, 
eh?"  He  slid  a  double  eagle  out  to  the  center 
of  the  table  and  laughed  recklessly.  The  deals 
went  around  rapidly,  each  one  calling  for  a  ten- 
dollar  sweetener  and  when  the  seventh  hand  was 
dealt  the  puncher  picked  his  cards  and  lauged. 
"She  's  open,"  he  cried,  "for  fifty,"  and  shoved 
out  the  money  with  one  hand  while  he  dug  up  a 
reserve  pile  from  his  pocket  with  the  other. 

The  gambler  saw  the  opener  and  raised  it  fifty, 
smiling  at  his  opponent's  expression.  The  pun- 
cher grunted  his  surprise,  studied  his  hand, 
glanced  at  the  pot  and  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
saw  the  raise.  He  drew  two  cards  and  chuckled 
as  he  slid  them  into  his  hand ;  but  before  the  dealer 
could  make  his  own  draw  the  puncher's  chuckle 
died  out  and  he  stared  over  the  gambler's 
shoulder.  With  an  oath  he  jerked  out  his  gun 
and  fired.     The  gambler  leaped  to  his  feet  and 

[311] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

whirled  around  to  look  behind.  Then  he  angrily 
faced  the  frowning  puncher.  "What  you  think 
yo  're  doin'?"  he  demanded,  his  hand  resting  in- 
side his  coat,  the  thumb  hooked  over  the  edge  of 
the  vest. 

The  puncher  waved  his  hand  apologetically. 
"I  never  have  no  luck  when  I  sees  a  cat,"  he  ex- 
plained. "A  black  cat  is  worse;  but  a  yaller 
one 's  bad  enough.  I  '11  bet  that  yaller  devil 
won't  come  back  in  a  hurry — judgin'  by  th'  way 
it  started.     I  won't  miss  him,  if  he  does." 

The  gambler,  still  frowning,  glanced  at  the 
deck  suspiciously  and  saw  that  it  lay  as  he  had 
dropped  it.  The  bartender,  grinning  at  them 
from  the  door,  cracked  a  joke  and  went  back  to 
the  bar.  Sammy,  after  a  wild  look  around, 
settled  back  in  his  chair  and  soothed  the  pianist 
a  little  before  going  back  to  sleep. 

Drawing  two  cards  the  gambler  shoved  them 
in  his  hand  without  a  change  in  his  expression — 
but  he  was  greatly  puzzled.  It  was  seldom  that 
he  bungled  and  he  was  not  certain  that  he  had. 
The  discard  contained  the  right  number  of  cards 

[312] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

and  liis  opponent's  face  gave  no  hint  to  the 
thoughts  behind  it.  He  hesitated  before  he  saw 
the  bet — ten  dollars  was  not  much,  for  the  size 
of  the  pot  justified  more.  He  slowly  saw  it,  will- 
ing to  lose  the  ten  in  order  to  see  his  opponent's 
cards.  There  was  something  he  wished  to  know, 
and  he  wanted  to  know  it  as  soon  as  he  could. 
"I  call  that,"  he  said.  The  puncher's  expression 
of  tenseness  relaxed  into  one  of  great  relief  and 
he  hurriedly  dropped  his  cards.  Three  kings,  an 
eight,  and  a  deuce  was  his  offering.  The  gam- 
bler laid  down  a  pair  of  queens,  a  ten,  an  eight 
and  a  four,  waved  his  hand  and  smiled.  "It 's 
just  as  well  I  didn't  draw  another  queen,"  he 
observed,  calmly.  "I  might  'a'  raised  once  for 
luck." 

The  puncher  raked  in  the  pot  and  turned 
around  in  his  chair.  "I  cleaned  up  that  time," 
he  exulted  to  the  woman.  She  had  stopped  play- 
ing and  was  stroking  Sammy's  forehead.  Smil- 
ing at  the  exuberant  winner  she  nodded.  "You 
should  have  let  the  cat  stay — I  think  it  really 
brought  you  luck."     He  shook  his  head  emphat- 

[313] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

ically.  "No,  ma'am!  It  was  chasin'  it  away  as 
did  that.     That 's  what  did  it,  a'right." 

The  gambler  glanced  quickly  at  the  two  top 
cards  on  the  deck  and  was  picking  up  those  scat- 
tered on  the  table  when  his  opponent  turned 
around  again.  How  that  queen  and  ten  had  got 
two  cards  too  deep  puzzled  him  greatly — he  was 
willing  to  wager  even  money  that  he  would  not 
look  away  again  until  the  game  was  finished,  not 
if  all  the  cats  in  the  world  were  being  slaughtered. 
One  hundred  and  ninety  dollars  was  too  much 
money  to  pay  for  being  caught  off  his  guard,  as 
he  was  tempted  to  believe  he  had  been.  He  did 
not  know  how  much  liquor  the  other  had  con- 
sumed, but  he  seemed  to  be  sobering  rapidly. 

The  next  few  deals  did  not  amount  to  much. 
Then  a  jackpot  came  around  and  was  pushed 
hard.  The  puncher  was  dealing  and  as  he  picked 
up  the  deck  after  the  cut  he  grinned  and  winked. 
**Th'  skirmishin'  now  bein'  over,  th'  battle  begins. 
If  that  cat  stays  away  long  enough  mebby  I  '11 
make  a  killin'." 

"All  right ;  but  don't  make  no  more  gun-plays," 

[314] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

warned  the  gambler,  coldly.  *'I  alius  get  ex- 
cited when  I  smells  gun-powder  an'  I  do  reckless 
things  sometimes,"  he  added,  significantly. 

**Then  I  shore  hopes  you  keep  ca'm,"  laughed 
the  puncher,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  over  the 
noise  of  the  piano,  which  was  now  going  again. 

The  pot  was  sweetened  three  times  and  then 
the  gambler  dealt  his  opponent  openers.  The 
puncher  looked  anxiously  through  the  door,  grin- 
ning coltishly.  He  slowly  pushed  out  twenty 
dollars.  "There 's  th'  key,"  he  grunted. 
"A'right;  see  that  an'  raise  you  back.  Good  for 
you!  I'm  stayin'  an'  boostin'  same  as  ever. 
Fine!  See  it  again,  an'  add  this.  I  'm  playin' 
with  yore  money,  so  I  c'n  afford  to  be  reckless. 
All  right;  I'm  satisfied,  too.  Gimme  one  li'l 
card.  I  shore  am  glad  I  don't  need  th'  king  of 
hearts — that  was  shore  on  th'  bottom  when  th' 
deal  begun," 

The  gambler,  having  drawn,  cursed  and 
reached  swiftly  toward  his  vest  pocket;  but  he 
stopped  suddenly  and  contemplated  the  Colt  that 
peeked  over  the  edge  of  the  table.     It  looked 

[315] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

squarely  at  his  short  ribs  and  was  backed  by  a 
sober,  angry  man  who  gazed  steadily  into  his 
eyes.  "Drop  that  hand,"  said  the  puncher  in  a 
whisper  just  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the  other 
over  the  noise  of  the  piano.  "I  never  did  like 
them  shoulder  holsters — I  carry  my  irons  where 
everybody  can  see  'em."  Leaning  forward 
swiftly  he  reached  out  his  left  hand  and  cautiously 
turned  over  the  other's  cards.  The  fourth  one 
was  the  king  of  hearts.  "Don't  move,"  he 
whispered,  not  wishing  to  have  the  bartender  take 
a  hand  from  behind.  "An'  don't  talk,"  he 
warned  as  he  leaned  farther  forward  and  shoved 
his  Colt  against  the  other's  vest  and  with  his  left 
hand  extracted  a  short-barreled  gun  from  the 
sheath  under  the  gambler's  armpit.  Sinking 
back  in  his  chair  he  listened  a  moment  and,  raking 
in  the  pot,  stowed  it  away  with  the  other  winnings 
in  his  pockets. 

The  gambler  stirred,  but  stopped  as  the  Colt 
leaped  like  a  flash  of  light  to  the  edge  of  the 
table.  "Tin-horn,"  said  the  puncher,  softly, 
"you  ain't  slick  enough.     I  did  n't  stop  you  when 

[316] 


SAJMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

you  wanted  that  queen  an'  ten  because  I  wanted 
you  to  go  on  with  th'  crookedness.  Yaller  cats 
is  more  unlucky  to  you  than  they  are  to  me.  But 
when  I  saw  that  last  play  I  lost  my  temper;  an' 
I  stopped  you.  Now  if  you  '11  cheat  with  me, 
you  '11  cheat  with  a  drunk  boy.  So,  havin' 
cheated  him,  you  really  stole  his  money  away 
from  him.  That  bein'  so,  you  will  dig  up  six 
month's  wages  at  about  fifty  per  month.  I  'd 
shoot  you  just  as  quick  as  I  'd  shoot  a  snake;  so 
don't  get  no  fool  notions  in  yore  head.  Dig  it 
right  up." 

The  gambler  studied  the  man  across  from  him, 
but  after  a  moment  he  silently  placed  some 
money  on  the  table.  "It  was  only  two  forty," 
he  observed,  holding  to  three  double  eagles. 
The  puncher  nodded:  "I  '11  take  yore  word  for 
that.  Now,  in  th'  beginnin'  I  only  wanted  to 
get  th'  boy  his  money;  but  when  you  started 
cheatin'  against  me  I  changed  my  mind.  I 
played  fair.  Now  here's  your  short-five,"  he  said 
as  he  slid  the  gun  across  the  table.  "Mebby  you 
might  want  to  use  it  sometime,"  he  smiled,    "Now 

[817] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

you  vamoose ;  an'  if  I  see  you  in  town  after  th' 
next  train  leaves,  I  ^1  make  you  use  that  shoulder 
holster.  An'  tell  yore  friends  that  Hopalong 
Cassidy  says,  that  for  a  country  where  men  can 
tote  their  hardware  in  plain  sight,  a  shoulder  lay- 
out ain't  no  good:  you  gotta  reach  too  high. 
Adios." 

He  watched  the  silent,  philosophical  man-of- 
cards  walk  slowly  toward  the  door,  upright, 
dignified  and  calm.  Then  he  turned  and  ap- 
proached the  piano.  "Sister,"  he  said,  politely, 
"yore  gamblin'  friend  is  leavin'  town  on  th'  next 
train.  He  has  pressin'  business  back  east  a 
couple  of  stations  an'  wonders  if  you  '11  join  him 
at  th'  depot  in  time  for  th'  next  train." 

She  had  stopped  playing  and  was  staring  at 
him  in  amazement.  "Why  didn't  he  come  an' 
tell  me  himself,  'stead  of  sneakin'  away  an' 
sendin'  you  over?"  she  at  last  demanded,  angrily. 

"Well,  he  wanted  to,  but  he  saw  a  man  an' 
slipped  out  with  his  gun  in  his  hand.  Mebby 
there'll  be  trouble;  but  I  dunno.  I'm  just 
tellin'  you.     Gee,"  he  laughed,  looking  at  the 

[318] 


SAMMY  FINDS  A  FRIEND 

snoring  youth  in  the  chair,  "he  got  that  quick. 
Why,  I  saw  him  less  'n  two  hours  ago  an'  he  was 
sober  as  a  judge.  Reckon  I  '11  take  him  over 
to  th'  hotel  an'  put  him  to  bed."  He  went  over 
to  the  helpless  Sammy,  shook  him  and  made  him 
get  on  his  feet.  *'Come  along,  Kid,"  he  said, 
slipping  his  arm  under  the  sagging  shoulder. 
"We  '11  get  along.  Good-by,  Sugar,"  and, 
supporting  the  feebly  protesting  cub,  he  slowly 
made  his  way  to  the  rear  door  and  was  gone,  a 
grin  wreathing  his  face  as  he  heard  the  chink  of 
gold  coins  in  his  several  pockets. 


[819] 


XII 
SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

A  CLEAN-CUT,  good-looking  cow- 
puncher  limped  slightly  as  he  passed 
the  postoffice  and  found  a  seat  on  a  box  in 
front  of  the  store  next  door.  He  sighed  with 
relief  and  gazed  cheerfully  at  the  littered  square 
as  though  it  was  something  worth  looking  at. 
The  night  had  not  been  a  pleasant  one  because 
Sammy  Porter  had  insisted  upon  either  singing 
or  snoring;  and  when  breakfast  was  announced 
the  youth  almost  had  recovered  his  senses  and 
was  full  of  remorse  and  a  raging  thirst.  Being 
flatly  denied  the  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit  him  he 
grew  eloquently  profane  and  very  abusive. 
Hence  Mr.  Cassidy's  fondness  for  the  box. 

Sounds  obtruded.  They  were  husky  and  had 
dimensions  and  they  came  from  the  hotel  bar. 
After  increasing  in  volume  and  carrying  power 
they  were  followed  to  the  street  by  a  disheveled 

[320] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

youth  who  kicked  open  the  door  and  blinked  in 
the  sunlight.  Espying  the  contented  individual 
on  the  box  he  shook  an  earnest  fist  at  that  person 
and  tried  next  door.  In  a  moment  he  followed 
a  new  burst  of  noise  to  the  street  and  shook  the 
other  fist.  Trying  the  saloon  on  the  other  side 
of  the  hotel  without  success  he  shook  both  fists 
and  once  again  tried  the  hotel  bar,  where  he 
proceeded  along  lines  tactful,  flattering  and  dip- 
lomatic. Only  yesterday  he  had  owned  a  gun, 
horse  and  other  personal  belongings ;  he  had  pos- 
sessed plenty  of  money,  a  clear  head  and  his  sins 
sat  lightly  on  his  youthful  soul.  He  still  had  the 
sins,  but  they  had  grown  in  weight.  Tact 
availed  him  nothing,  flattery  was  futile  and  di- 
plomacy was  in  vain.  To  all  his  arguments  the 
bartender  sadly  shook  his  head,  not  because 
Sammy  had  no  money,  which  was  the  reason  he 
gave,  but  because  of  vivid  remembrance  of  the 
grimness  with  which  a  certain  red-haired, 
straight-lipped,  two-gun  cowpuncher  had  made 
known  his  request.  "Let  him  suffer,"  had  said 
the  gunman.     "It  '11  be  a  good  lesson  for  him. 

[321] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Understand;  not  a  drop!"  And  the  bartender 
had  understood.  To  the  drink-dispenser's  re- 
fusal Sammy  replied  with  a  masterpiece  of  elo- 
quence and  during  its  delivery  the  bartender 
stood  with  his  hand  on  a  mallet,  but  too  spell- 
bound to  throw"  it.  Wheeling  at  the  close  of  a 
vivid,  soaring  climax,  Sammy  yanked  open  the 
door  again  and  stood  transfixed  with  amaze- 
ment and  hostile  envy.  His  new  and  officious 
friend  surely  knew  the  right  system  with  women. 
To  the  burning  indignities  of  the  morning  this 
added  the  last  straw  and  Sammy  bitterly  re- 
solved not  to  forget  his  wrongs. 

Had  Mr.  Cassidy  been  a  kitten  he  would  have 
purred  with  delight  as  he  watched  his  youthful 
friend's  vain  search  for  the  hair  of  the  dog,  and 
his  grin  was  threatening  to  engulf  his  ears  when 
the  Cub  slammed  into  the  hotel.  Hearing  the 
beating  of  hoofs  he  glanced  around  and  saw  a 
trim,  pretty  young  lady  astride  a  trim,  high- 
spirited  pony;  and  both  were  thoroughbreds  if 
he  was  any  judge.  They  bore  down  upon  him 
at  a  smart  lope  and  stopped  at  the  edge  of  the 

[322] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

walk.  The  rider  leaped  from  the  saddle  and 
ran  toward  him  with  her  hand  outstretched  and 
her  face  aglow  with  a  delighted  surprise.  Her 
eyes  fairly  danced  with  welcome  and  relief  and 
her  cheeks,  reddened  by  the  thrust  of  the  wind 
for  more  than  twenty  miles,  flamed  a  deeper  red, 
through  which  streaks  of  creamy  white  played 
fascinatingly.  ''Dick  Ellsworth!"  she  cried. 
"When  did  you  get  here?" 

Mr.  Cassidy  stumbled  to  his  feet,  one  hand  in- 
stinctively going  out  to  the  one  held  out  to  him, 
the  other  fiercely  gripping  his  sombrero.  His 
face  flamed  under  its  tan  and  he  mumbled  an  in- 
coherent reply. 

"Don't  you  remember  me?'^  she  chided,  a  ro- 
guish, half -serious  expression  flashing  over  her 
countenance.  "Not  little  Annie,  whom  you 
taught  to  ride?  I  used  to  think  I  needed  you 
then,  Dick;  but  oh,  how  I  need  you  now.  It 's 
Providence,  nothing  else,  that  sent  you. 
Father 's  gone  steadily  worse  and  now  all  he 
cares  for  is  a  bottle.  Joe,  the  new  foreman,  has 
full  charge  of  everything  and  he 's  not  only 

[323] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

robbing  us  right  and  left,  but  he  *s — ^he  's  both- 
ering me!  When  I  complain  to  father  of  his  at- 
tentions all  I  get  is  a  foolish  grin.  If  you  only 
knew  how  I  have  prayed  for  you  to  come  back, 
Dick!  Two  bitter  years  of  it.  But  now  every- 
thing is  all  right.  Tell  me  about  yourself  while 
I  get  the  mail  and  then  we  '11  ride  home  together. 
I  suppose  Joe  will  be  waiting  for  me  somewhere 
on  the  trail;  he  usually  does.  Did  you  ever  hate 
anyone  so  much  you  wanted  to  kill  him?"  she 
demanded  fiercely,  beside  herself  for  the  mo- 
ment. 

Hopalong  nodded.  "Well,  yes;  I  have,"  he 
answered.  "But  you  must  n't.  What 's  his 
name?    We  '11  have  to  look  into  this." 

"Joe  Worth;  but  let 's  forget  him  for  awhile," 
she  smiled.  "I  '11  get  the  mail  while  you  go  after 
your  horse." 

He  nodded  and  watched  her  enter  the  post- 
office  and  then  turned  and  walked  thoughtfully 
away.  She  was  mounted  when  he  returned  and 
they  swung  out  of  the  town  at  a  lope. 

"Where  have  you  been,  and  what  have  you 

[S24] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

been  doing?*'  she  asked  as  they  pushed  along  the 
firm,  hard  trail. 

"Punchin'  for  th'  Bar-20,  southwest  of  here. 
I  wouldn't  'a'  been  here  today  only  I  let  th' 
outfit  ride  on  without  me.  We  just  got  back 
from  Kansas  City  a  couple  of  days  back.  But 
let 's  get  at  this  here  Joe  Worth  prop'sition. 
I  'm  plumb  curious.  How  long 's  he  been  pes- 
terin'  you?" 

"Nearly  two  years — I  can't  stand  it  much 
longer." 

"An'  th'  outfit  don't  cut  in?" 

"They  're  his  friends,  and  they  understand 
that  father  wants  it  so.  You  '11  not  know  father, 
Dick:  I  never  thought  a  man  could  change  so. 
Mother's  death  broke  him  as  though  he  were  a 
reed." 

"Hum!"  he  grunted.  "You  ain't  carin'  how 
this  coyote  is  stopped,  just  so  he  is?" 

"No!"  she  flashed. 

"An'  he  '11  be  waitin'  for  you?" 

"He  usually  is." 

He  grinned.     "Le  's  hope  he  is  this  time." 

[325] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

He  was  silent  a  moment  and  looked  at  her  curi- 
ously. "I  don't  know  how  you  11  take  it,  but 
I  got  a  surprise  for  you — a  big  one.  I  'm  shore 
sorry  to  admit  it,  but  I  ain't  th'  man  you  think. 
I  ain't  Dick  What  's-his-name,  though  it  shore 
ain't  my  fault.  I  reckon  I  must  look  a  heap  like 
him;  an'  I  hope  I  can  act  like  him  in  this  here 
matter.  I  want  to  see  it  through  like  he  would. 
I  can  do  as  good  a  job,  too.  But  it  ain't  no- 
wise fair  nor  right  to  pretend  I  'm  him.  I 
am  t. 

She  was  staring  at  him  in  a  way  he  did  not 
like.  "Not  Dick  Ellsworth!"  she  gasped. 
"You  are  not  Dick?" 

"I  'm  shore  sorry — ^but  I  'd  like  to  play  his 
cards.  I  'm  honin'  for  to  see  this  here  Joe 
Worth,"  he  nodded,  cheerfully. 

"And  you  let  me  beheve  you  were?"  she  de- 
manded coldly.  "You  deliberately  led  me  to 
talk  as  I  did?^' 

"Well,  now;  I  didn't  just  know  what  to  do. 
You  shore  was  in  trouble,  which  was  bad.  I 
reckoned  mebby  I  could  get  you  out  of  it  an' 

[326] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

then  go  along  'bout  my  business.  You  ain't 
goin'  to  stop  me  a-doin'  it,  are  you?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

Her  reply  was  a  slow,  contemptuous  look  that 
missed  nothing  and  that  left  nothing  to  be  said. 
Her  horse  did  not  like  to  stand,  anyway,  and 
sprang  eagerly  forward  in  answer  to  the  sudden 
pressure  of  her  knees.  She  rode  the  high-stnmg 
bay  with  superb  art,  angry,  defiant,  and  erect  as 
a  statue.  Hopalong,  shaking  his  head  slowly, 
gazed  after  her  and  when  she  had  become  a  speck 
on  the  plain  he  growled  a  question  to  his  horse 
and  turned  sullenly  toward  the  town.  Riding 
straight  to  the  hotel  he  held  a  short,  low-voiced 
conversation  with  the  clerk  and  then  sought  his 
friend,  the  Cub.  This  youthful  grouch  was  glar- 
ing across  the  bar  at  the  red-faced,  angry  man 
behind  it,  and  the  atmosphere  was  not  one  of 
peace.  The  Cub  turned  to  see  who  the  new- 
comer was  and  thereupon  transferred  his  glare 
to  the  smiling  puncher. 

"Hullo,  Kid,"  breezed  Hopalong. 

"You  go  to  h — ^1!"  growled  Sammy,  remem- 

[327] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

bering  to  speak  respectfully  to  his  elders.  He 
backed  off  cautiously  until  he  could  keep  both 
of  his  enemies  under  his  eyes. 

Hopalong's  grin  broadened.  He  dug  into  his 
pockets  and  produced  a  large  sum  of  money. 
*'Here,  Kid,"  said  he,  stepping  forward  and 
thrusting  it  into  Sammy's  paralyzed  hands. 
*'Take  it  an'  buy  all  th'  liquor  you  wants.  You 
can  get  yore  gim  off  'n  th'  clerk,  an'  he  '11  tell  you 
where  to  find  yore  cayuse  an'  other  belongings. 
I  gotta  leave  town." 

Sammy  stared  at  the  money  in  his  hand. 
"What's  this?"  he  demanded,  his  face  flushing 
angrily. 

"Money,"  replied  Hopalong.  'It's  that 
shiny  stuff  you  buys  things  with.  Spondulix, 
cash,  mazuma.     You  spend  it,  you  know." 

Sammy  sputtered.  He  might  have  frothed 
had  his  mouth  not  been  so  dry.  "Is  it?"  he  de- 
manded with  great  sarcasm.  ''I  thought  mebby 
it  was  cows,  or  buttons.  What  you  handin'  it 
to  me  for?     I  ain't  no  d — d  beggar!" 

Hopalong  chuckled.     "That  money  's  yourn. 

[328] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

I  pried  it  loose  from  th'  tin-horn  that  stole  it 
from  you.  I  also,  besides,  pried  off  a  few 
chunks  more ;  but  them  's  mine.  I  alius  pays 
myself  good  wages;  an'  th'  aforesaid  chunks  is 
plenty  an'  generous.     Amen." 

Sammy  regarded  his  smiling  friend  with  a 
frank  suspicion  that  was  brutal.  The  pleasing 
bulge  of  the  pockets  reassured  him  and  he  slowly 
pocketed  his  rescued  wealth.  He  growled  some- 
thing doubtless  meant  for  thanks  and  turned  to 
the  bar.  "A  large  chunk  of  th'  Mojave  Desert 
slid  down  my  throat  las'  night  an'  I  'm  so  dry 
I  rustles  in  th'  breeze.  Let 's  wet  down  a  li'l." 
Having  extracted  some  of  the  rustle  he  eyed  his 
companion  suspiciously.  "Thought  you  was  a 
stranger  hereabouts?" 

"You  've  called  it." 

"Huh!  Then  I  'm  goin'  to  stick  close  to  you 
an  get  acquainted  with  th'  female  population  of 
th'  towns  we  hit.  An'  I  had  alius  reckoned 
lightnin'  was  quick !"  he  soliloquized,  regretfully. 
"How  'd  you  do  it?"  he  demanded. 

Hopalong  was  gazing  over  his  friend's  head  at 

[329] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

a  lurid  chromo  portraying  the  Battle  of  Bull 
Run  and  he  pursed  his  lips  thoughtfully. 
"That  shore  was  some  slaughter,"  he  commented. 
"Well,  Kid,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand, 
"I  'm  leavin'.  If  you  ever  gets  down  my  way 
an'  wants  a  good  job,  drop  in  an'  see  us.  Th' 
clerk  '11  tell  you  how  to  get  there.  An'  th'  next 
time  you  gambles,  stay  sober." 

"Hey!  Wait  a  minute!"  exclaimed  Sammy. 
"Goin'  home  now?" 

"Can't  say  as  I  am,  direct." 
"Comin'  back  here  before  you  do?" 
"Can't  say  that,  neither.     Life  is  plumb  on- 
certain  an'  gunplay  's  even  worse.     Mebby  I  will 
if  I  'm  alive." 

"Who  you  gunnin'  for?  Can't  I  take  a 
hand?" 

"Reckon  not,  Sammy.  Why,  I  'm  cuttin'  in 
where  I  ain't  wanted,  even  if  I  am  needed.  But 
it 's  my  duty.  It 's  a  h — 1  of  a  community  as 
waits  for  a  total  stranger  to  do  its  work  for  it. 
If  yo  're  around  an'  I  come  back,  why  I  '11  see 
you  again.     Meanwhile,  look  out  for  tin-horns." 

[330] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

Sammy  followed  him  outside  and  grasped  his 
arm.  "I  can  hold  up  my  end  in  an  argument," 
he  asserted  fiercely.  "You  went  an'  did  me  a 
good  turn — lemme  do  you  one.  If  it 's  anythin' 
to  do  with  that  li'l  girl  you  met  to-day  I  won't 
cut  in — only  on  th'  trouble  end.  I'm  particular 
strong  on  th'  trouble  part.  Look  here:  Ain't 
a  friend  got  no  rights?" 

Hopalong  warmed  to  the  eager  youngster — 
he  was  so  much  like  Jimmy;  and  Jimmy,  be  it 
known,  could  bedevil  Hopalong  as  much  as  any 
man  alive  and  not  even  get  an  unkind  word  for 
it.  "I  'm  scared  to  let  you  come.  Kid ;  she  'd 
fumigate  th'  ranch  when  you  left.  Th'  last 
twenty-four  hours  has  outlawed  you,  all  right. 
You  keep  to  th'  brush  trails  in  th'  draws — don't 
cavort  none  on  skylines  till  you  lose  that  biled 
owl  look."  He  laughed  at  the  other's  expression 
and  placed  his  hands  on  the  youth's  shoulders. 
"That  ain't  it.  Kid;  I  never  apologizes,  serious, 
for  th'  looks  of  my  friends.  They  're  my  friends, 
drunk  or  sober,  in  h — 1  or  out  of  it.  I  just  can't 
see  how  you  can  cut  in  proper.     Better  wait 

[331] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

for  me  here — I  '11  turn  up,  all  right.    Meanwhile, 
as  I  says  before,  look  out  for  tin-horns." 

Sammy  watched  him  ride  away,  and  then 
slammed  his  sombrero  on  the  ground  and  jumped 
on  it,  after  which  he  felt  reheved.  Procuring 
his  gun  from  the  clerk  he  paused  to  cross- 
examine,  but  after  a  fruitless  half  hour  he  saun- 
tered out,  hiding  his  vexation,  to  wrestle  with 
the  problem  in  the  open.  Passing  the  window  of 
a  general  store  he  idly  glanced  at  the  meager 
display  behind  the  dusty  glass  and  a  sudden  grin 
transfigured  his  countenance.  He  would  find 
out  about  the  girl  first  and  that  would  help  him 
solve  the  puzzle.  Thinking  thus  he  wandered 
in  carelessly  and  he  wandered  out  again  gravely 
clutching  a  small  package.  Slipping  behind  the 
next  building  he  tore  off  the  paper  and  carefully 
crumpled  and  soiled  with  dust  the  purchase. 
Then  he  went  down  to  the  depot  and  followed 
the  railroad  tracks  toward  the  other  side  of  the 
square.  Reaching  the  place  where  the  south 
trail  crossed  the  tracks  he  left  them  and  walked 
slowly  toward  a  small  depression  that  was  sur- 

[332] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

rounded  by  hoofprints.  He  stooped  quickly 
and  straightened  up  with  a  woman's  handker- 
chief dangling  from  his  fingers.  He  grinned 
foolishly,  examined  it,  sniif ed  at  it  and  scratched 
his  head  while  he  cogitated.  A  decisive  wave 
of  his  hand  apprised  the  two  spectators  that  he 
had  arrived  at  a  conclusion,  which  he  bore  out 
by  heading  straight  for  the  postoffice,  which  was 
a  part  of  the  grocery  store.  The  postmaster 
and  grocer,  in  person  one,  watched  his  approach 
with  frank  curiosity. 

Sammy  nodded  and  went  in  the  store,  fol- 
lowed by  the  proprietor.  **Howd'y,"  he  re- 
marked, producing  the  handkerchief.  "Just 
picked  this  up  over  on  th'  trail.  Know  who 
dropped  it?" 

"Annie  Allison,  I  reckon,'*  replied  the  other. 
"She  came  in  that  way  from  th'  Bar-U.  Want 
to  leave  it?" 

Sammy  considered.  "Why,  I  might  as  well 
take  it  to  her — I'm  goin'  down  there  purty  soon. 
Don't  know  any  other  ranch  that  might  use  a 
broncho-buster,  do  you?" 

[333] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

The  proprietor  shook  his  head.  "No;  most 
folks  'round  here  bust  their  own.  Perfes- 
sional?" 

Sammy  nodded.  "Yes.  Here,  gimme  two- 
bits'  worth  of  them  pep 'mint  lozengers.  Yes,  it 
shore  is  fine;  but  it  '11  rain  before  long.  Well, 
by-by." 

The  bartender  of  the  "Retreat"  sniffed  sus- 
piciously and  eyed  the  open  door  thoughtfully, 
holding  aloft  the  bar-mop  while  he  considered. 
Then  he  put  the  mop  on  the  bar  and  went  to  the 
door,  where  he  peered  out.  "Huh!"  l\e  grunted. 
"Hogin'  that?"  he  sarcastically  inquired. 
Sammy  held  out  the  bag  and  led  the  way  to  the 
bar.  "Where's  th'  Bar-U?  Yes?  Do  their 
own  broncho-bustin'?  Who,  me?  Ain't  nothin' 
on  laigs  can  throw^  me,  includin'  humans  an'  bar- 
tenders. What?  Well,  what  you  want  to  get 
all  skinned  up  for,  for  nothin'?  Five  dollars? 
If  you  must  lose  it  I  might  as  well  have  it.  One 
fall?    All  right;  come  out  here  an'  get  it." 

The  bartender  chuckled  and  vaulted  the  coun- 
ter as  advance  notice  of  his  agility  and  physical 

[334] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

condition,  and  immediately  there  ensued  a  soft 
shuffling.  Suddenly  the  building  shook  and 
dusted  itself  and  Sammy  arose  and  stepped 
back,  smiling  at  his  victim.  **Thanks,"  he  re- 
marked. "Good  money  was  spent  on  part  of  my 
education — boxin'  bein'  th'  other  half.  Now, 
for  five  more,  where  can't  I  hit  you?" 

*'Behind  th'  bar,"  grinned  the  other;  "I  got 
deadly  weapons  there.  Look  here!"  he  ex- 
claimed hurriedly  as  a  great  idea  struck  him. 
"Everybody  'round  here  will  back  their  wrastlin' 
reckless ;  le  's  team  up  an'  make  some  easy  money. 
I  '11  make  th'  bets  an'  you  win  'em.  Split  even. 
What  say?" 

"Later  on,  mebby.  What'd  you  say  that 
Bar-U  foreman's  name  was?" 

The  bartender's  reply  was  supplemented  by  a 
pious  suggestion.  "An'  if  you  wrastles  him, 
bust  his  cussed  neck!" 

"Why  this  friendship?"  queried  Sammy, 
laughing. 

"Oh,  just  for  general  principles." 

Sammy  bought  cigars,  left  some  lozenges  and 

[335] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

went  out  to  search  for  his  horse,  which  he  duly- 
found.  Inwardly  he  was  elated  and  he  flexed 
his  muscles  and  made  curious  motions  with  his 
arms,  which  caused  the  pie-bald  to  show  the 
whites  of  its  eyes  wickedly  and  flatten  its  ragged 
ears.  Its  actions  were  justified,  for  a  left  hand 
darted  out  and  slapped  the  wrinkling  muzzle, 
deftly  escaping  the  clicking  teeth.  Then  the 
warhke  pie-bald  reflected  judiciously  as  it 
chewed  the  lozenge.  The  eyes  showed  less  white 
and  the  ears,  moving  forward  and  back,  com- 
promised by  one  staying  forward.  The  candy 
was  old  and  stale  and  the  sting  of  the  mint  was 
negligible,  but  the  sugar  was  much  in  evidence. 
When  the  hand  darted  out  again  the  answering 
nip  was  playful  and  the  ears  were  set  rigidly 
forward.  Sammy  laughed,  slipped  several  more 
lozenges  into  the  ready  mouth,  vaulted  lightly 
to  the  saddle  and  rode  slowly  toward  the  square. 
The  pie-bald  kicked  mildly  and  reached  around 
to  nip  at  the  stirrup,  and  then  went  on  about  its 
business  as  any  well-broken  cow  pony  should. 
Reaching  the  square  Sammy  drew  rein  sud- 

£336] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

denly  and  watched  a  horseman  who  was  riding 
away  from  the  "Retreat."  Waiting  a  few 
minutes  Sammy  spurred  forward  to  the  saloon 
and  called  the  bartender  out  to  him.  "Who  was 
that  feller  that  just  left?"  he  asked,  euriously. 

"Joe  Worth,  th'  man  yo  're  goin'  to  strike  for 
that  job.  Why  don't  you  catch  him  now  an' 
mebby  save  yoreself  a  day's  ride?" 

"Good  idea,"  endorsed  Sammy.  "See  you 
later,"  and  the  youth  wheeled  and  loped  toward 
the  trail,  but  drew  rein  when  hidden  from  the 
"Retreat"  by  some  buildings.  He  watched  the 
distant  horseman  until  he  became  a  mere  dot  and 
then  Sammy  pushed  on  after  him.  There  was 
a  satisfied  look  on  his  face  and  he  chuckled  as 
he  cogitated.  "I  shore  got  th'  drift  of  this;  I 
know  th'  game !  Wonder  how  Cassidy  got  onto 
it?"  He  laughed  contentedly.  "Well,  five  hun- 
dred ain't  too  little  to  split  two  ways ;  an'  mebby 
it  18  a  two-man  job.  Mr.  Joe  Worth,  who  was 
once  Mr.  George  Atkins,  I  would  n't  give  a  peso 
for  yore  chances  after  I  get  th'  lay  of  th'  ground 
an'  find  out  yore  habits.     Yo  're  goin'  back  to 

[337] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Willow  Springs  as  shore  as  'dogies'  hang  'round 
water  holes.  An'  you  '11  shore  dance  their  tune 
when  you  gets  there." 

Mr.  Cassidy,  arriving  at  the  Bar-U,  asked  for 
the  foreman  and  was  told  that  the  boss  was  in 
town,  but  would  be  back  sometime  in  the  after- 
noon. The  newcomer  replied  that  he  would  re- 
turn later  and,  carefully  keeping  out  of  sight 
of  the  ranch  house  as  well  as  he  could,  he  wheeled 
and  rode  back  the  way  he  had  come,  being  very 
desirous  to  have  a  good  look  at  the  foreman  be- 
fore they  met.  Arriving  at  an  arroyo  several 
miles  north  of  the  ranch  he  turned  into  it  and, 
leaving  his  horse  picketed  on  good  grass  along  the 
bottom,  he  climbed  to  a  position  where  he  could 
see  the  trail  without  being  seen.  Having  settled 
himself  comfortably  he  improved  the  wait  by 
trying  to  think  out  the  best  way  to  accomplish 
the  work  he  had  set  himself  to  do.  Shooting 
was  too  common  and  hardly  justifiable  unless 
Mr.  Worth  forced  the  issue  with  weapons  of  war. 

The  time  passed  slowly  and  he  was  relieved 

[3S8] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

when  a  horseman  appeared  far  to  the  north  and 
jogged  toward  him,  riding  with  the  careless 
grace  of  one  at  home  in  the  saddle.  Being  thor- 
oughly familiar  with  the  trail  and  the  surround- 
ing country  the  rider  looked  straight  ahead  as  if 
attention  to  the  distance  yet  untraveled  might 
make  it  less.  He  passed  within  twenty  feet  of 
the  watcher  and  went  on  his  way  undisturbed. 
Hopalong  waited  until  he  was  out  of  sight 
around  a  hill  and  then,  vaulting  into  the  saddle, 
rode  after  him,  still  puzzled  as  to  how  he  would 
proceed  about  the  business  in  hand.  He  dis- 
mounted at  the  bunkhouse  and  nodded  to  those 
who  lingered  near  the  wash  bench  awaiting  their 
turn. 

"Just  in  time  to  feed,"  remarked  one  of  the 
punchers.  "Watch  yore  turn  at  th'  basins — 
every  man  for  hisself 's  th'  rule." 

"All  right,"  Hopalong  laughed.  "But  is 
there  any  chance  to  get  a  job  here?"  he  asked, 
anxiously. 

"You'll  have  to  quiz  th'  OY  Man — here  he 
comes  now,"  and  the  puncher  waved  at  the  ap- 

[339] 


THE  COMING  OF  CAS  SIDY 

preaching  foreman.  "Hey,  Joe !  Got  a  job  for 
this  homhre?''  he  called. 

The  foreman  keenly  scrutinized  the  newcomer, 
as  he  always  examined  strangers.  The  two 
guns  swinging  low  on  the  hips  caught  his  eyes 
instantly  but  he  showed  no  particular  interest  in 
them,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  they  pro- 
claimed a  gunman.  *'Why  I  reckon  I  got  a  job 
for  you,"  he  said.  "I  been  waitin'  to  keep  some- 
body over  on  Cherokee  Range.  But  it 's  time  to 
eat:  we  '11  talk  later." 

After  the  meal  the  outfit  passed  the  time  in 
various  ways  until  bed-time,  the  foreman  talk- 
ing to  the  new  member  of  his  family.  During 
the  night  the  foreman  awakened  several  times 
and  looked  toward  the  newcomer's  bunk  but 
found  nothing  suspicious.  After  breakfast  he 
called  Hopalong  and  one  of  the  others  to  him. 
"Ned,"  he  said,  "take  Cassidy  over  to  his  range 
and  come  right  back.  Hey,  Charley !  You  an' 
Jim  take  them  poles  down  to  th'  ford  an'  fence 
in  that  quicksand  just  south  of  it.     Ben  says 

[340] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

he  's  been  doin'  nothin'  but  puUin'  cows  outen 
it.     All  right,  Tim;  comin'  right  away." 

Ned  and  the  new  puncher  lost  no  time  but 
headed  east  at  once  with  a  packhorse  carrying  a 
week's  provisions  for  one  man.  The  country 
grew  rougher  rapidly  and  when  they  finally 
reached  the  divide  a  beautiful  sight  lay  below 
them,  stretching  as  far  as  eye  could  see  to  the 
east.  In  the  middle  distance  gleamed  the 
Cherokee,  flowing  toward  the  south  through  its 
valley  of  rocks,  canyons,  cliffs,  draws  and  tim- 
ber. 

"There  's  th'  hut,"  said  Ned,  pointing  to  a 
small  gray  blot  against  the  dead  black  of  a 
towering  cliff.  "Th'  spring 's  just  south  of  it. 
Bucket  Hill,  up  north  there,  is  th'  north  bound- 
ary ;  Twin  Spires,  south  yonder  is  th'  other  end ; 
an'  th'  Cherokee  will  stop  you  on  th'  east  side. 
You  ride  in  every  Sat'day  if  you  wants.  Don't 
get  lonesome,"  he  grinned  and,  wheeling 
abruptly,  went  back  the  way  they  had  come. 

Hopalong  shook  his  head  in  disgust.     To  be 

[S41] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

sidetracked  like  this  was  maddening.  It  had 
taken  three  hours  of  hard  travehng  over  rough 
country  to  get  where  he  was  and  it  would  take  as 
long  to  return;  and  all  for  nothing  1  He  re- 
garded the  pack  animal  with  a  grin,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  led  the  way  toward  the  hut,  the 
pack  horse  following  obediently.  It  was  another 
hour  before  he  finally  reached  the  little  cabin, 
for  the  way  was  strange  and  rough.  During  this 
time  he  had  talked  aloud,  for  he  had  the  tricks 
of  his  kind  and  when  alone  he  talked  to  himself. 
When  he  reached  the  hut  he  relieved  the  pack 
horse  of  its  load,  carrying  the  stuff  inside. 
Closing  the  door  and  blocking  it  with  a  rock  he 
found  the  spring,  drank  his  fill  and  then  let  the 
horses  do  likewise.  Then  he  mounted  and  started 
back  over  the  rough  trail,  thinking  out  loud  and 
confiding  to  his  horse  and  he  entered  a  narrow 
defile  close  to  the  top  of  the  divide,  promising 
dire  things  to  the  foreman.  Suddenly  a  rope 
settled  over  him,  pinned  his  arms  to  his 
sides  and  yanked  him  from  the  saddle  before  he 
had  time  to  think.     He  landed  on  his  head  and 

[S42] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

was  dazed  as  he  sat  up  and  looked  around.  The 
foreman's  rifle  confronted  him,  and  behind  the 
foreman's  feet  were  his  two  Colts. 

"You  talks  too  much,"  sneered  the  man  with 
the  drop.  "I  suspicioned  you  th'  minute  I  laid 
eyes  on  you.  It  '11  take  a  better  man  than  you 
to  get  that  five  hundred  reward.  I  reckon  th' 
Sheriff  was  too  scared  to  come  hisself." 

Hopalong  shook  his  head  as  if  to  clear  it. 
What  was  the  man  talking  about?  Who  was 
the  sheriff?  He  gave  it  up,  but  would  not  be- 
tray his  ignorance.  Yes;  he  had  talked  too 
much.  He  felt  of  his  head  and  was  mildly  sur- 
prised to  see  his  hand  covered  with  blood  when  he 
glanced  at  it.  "Five  hundred  's  a  lot  of  money," 
he  muttered. 

"Blood  money!"  snapped  the  foreman. 
"You  had  a  gall  tryin'  to  get  me.  Why,  I  been 
lookin'  for  somebody  to  try  it  for  two  years. 
An'  I  was  ready  every  minute  of  all  that  time." 

Slowly  it  came  to  Hopalong  and  with  it  the 
realization  of  how  foolish  it  would  be  to  deny 
the  part  ascribed  to   himself.     The  rope  was 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

loose  and  his  arms  were  practically  free;  the 
foreman  had  dropped  the  lariat  and  was  depend- 
ing upon  his  gun.  The  captive  felt  of  his  head 
again  and,  putting  his  hands  behind  him  for  as- 
sistance in  getting  up,  arose  slowly  to  his  feet. 
In  one  of  the  hands  was  a  small  rock  that  it  had 
rested  upon  during  the  effort  of  rising.  At 
the  movement  the  foreman  watched  him  closely 
and  ordered  him  not  to  take  a  step  if  he  wanted 
to  live  a  little  longer. 

"I  reckon  I  '11  have  to  shoot  you,"  he  an- 
nounced. "I  dassn't  let  you  loose  to  f oiler 
me  all  over  th'  country.  Anyhow,  I  'd  have  to 
do  it  sooner  or  later.  I  wish  you  was  Phelps, 
d — n  him;  but  he's  a  wise  sheriff.  Better 
stand  up  agin'  that  wall.  I  gotta  do  it ;  an'  you 
deserve  it,  you  Judas !" 

"Meanin'  yo 're  Christ?"  sneered  Hopalong. 
"Did  you  kill  th'  other  feller  like  that?  If  I  'd 
'a'  knowed  that  I  'd  'a'  slapped  yore  dawg's  face 
at  th'  bunkhouse  an'  made  you  take  an  even 
break.  Shore  you  got  nerve  enough  to  shoot 
straight  if  I  looks  at  you  while  yo  're  aimin'? " 

[344] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

He  laughed  cynically.     "  I  don't  want  to  close 
my  eyes." 

The  foreman's  face  went  white  and  he  half 
lowered  the  rifle  as  he  took  a  step  forward. 
Hopalong  leaped  sideways  and  his  arm  straight- 
ened out,  the  other  staggering  under  the  blow 
of  the  missile.  Leaping  forward  Hopalong  ran 
into  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  staggered  as  he  jumped 
to  close  quarters.  His  hand  smashed  full  in  the 
foreman's  face  and  his  knee  sank  in  the  fore- 
man's groin.  They  went  down,  the  foreman 
weak  from  the  kick  and  Hopalong  sick  and  weak 
from  the  bullet  that  had  grazed  the  bone  of  his 
bad  thigh.  And  lying  on  the  ground  they  fought 
in  a  daze,  each  incapable  of  inflicting  serious  in- 
jury for  awhile.  But  the  foreman  grew  stronger 
as  his  enemy  grew  weaker  from  loss  of  blood 
and,  wrigghng  from  under  his  furious  antago- 
nist, he  reached  for  his  Colt.  Hopalong  threw 
himself  forward  and  gripped  the  gun  wrist  be- 
tween his  teeth  and  closed  his  jaws  until  they 
ached.  But  the  foreman,  pounding  ceaselessly 
on  the  other's  face  with  his  free  hand,  made  the 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

jaws  relax  and  drew  the  weapon.  Then  he  saw 
all  the  stars  in  the  heavens  as  Hopalong's  head 
crashed  full  against  his  jaw  and  before  he  could 
recover  the  gun  was  pinned  under  his  enemy's 
knee.  Hopalong's  head  crashed  again  against 
the  foreman's  jaw  and  his  right  hand  gripped  the 
corded  throat  while  the  left,  its  thumb  inside  the 
foreman's  cheek  and  its  fingers  behind  an  ear, 
tugged  and  strained  at  the  distorted  face. 
Growling  like  wild  beasts  they  strained  and 
panted,  and  then,  suddenly,  Hopalong's  grip  re- 
laxed and  he  made  one  last,  desperate  effort  to 
bring  his  strength  back  into  one  furious  attack; 
but  in  vain.  The  battered  foreman,  quick  to 
sense  the  situation,  wrestled  his  adversary  to  one 
side  long  enough  to  grab  the  Colt  from  under 
the  shifting  knee.  As  he  clutched  it  a  shot  rang 
out  and  the  weapon  dropped  from  his  nerveless 
hand  before  he  could  pull  the  trigger.  An  ex- 
ulting, savage  yell  roared  in  his  ears  and  in  the 
next  instant  he  seemed  to  leave  the  ground  and 
soar  through  space.  He  dropped  ten  feet  away 
and  lay  dazed  and  helpless  as  a  knee  crashed 

[846] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

against  his  chest.  Sammy  Porter,  his  face  work- 
ing curiously  with  relief  and  rage,  rolled  him 
against  the  wall  of  the  defile  and  struck  him  over 
the  head  with  a  rifle  butt,  first  disarming  him. 

Hopalong  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  around, 
dazed  and  sick.  The  foreman,  bound  hand  and 
foot  by  a  forty-five  foot  lariat,  lay  close  to  the 
base  of  the  wall  and  stared  sullenly  at  the  sky. 
Sammy  was  coming  up  the  trail  with  a  dripping 
sombrero  held  carefully  in  his  hands  and  was 
growling  and  talking  it  all  over.  Hopalong 
looked  down  at  his  thigh  and  saw  a  heavy,  blood- 
splotched  bandage  fastened  clumsily  in  place. 
Glancing  at  Sammy  again  he  idly  noted  that  part 
of  the  youth's  blue-flannel  shirt  was  missing. 
Curiously,  it  matched  the  bandage.  He  closed 
his  eyes  and  tried  to  think  what  it  was  all  about. 

Sammy  ambled  up  to  him,  threw  some  water 
in  the  bruised  face  and  then  grinned  cheerfully 
at  the  language  he  evoked.  Producing  a  flask 
and  holding  it  up  to  the  light,  Sammy  slid  his 
thumb  to  a  certain  level  and  then  shoved  the 
bottle   against  his   friend's   teeth.     "Huh!"  he 

[347] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

chuckled,  yanking  the  bottle  away.  You'll  be 
all  right  in  a  couple  of  days.  But  you  shore  are 
one  h — 1  of  a  sight — it 's  a  toss-up  between  you 
an'  Atkins." 

It  was  night.  Hopalong  stirred  and  arose  on 
one  elbow  and  noticed  that  he  was  lying  on  a 
blanket  that  covered  a  generous  depth  of  leaves 
and  pine  boughs.  The  sap-filled  firewood  crack- 
led and  popped  and  hissed  and  whistled  under 
the  licking  attack  of  the  greedy  flames,  which 
flared  up  and  died  down  in  endless  alternation, 
and  which  grotesquely  revealed  to  Hopalong's 
throbbing  eyes  a  bound  figure  lying  on  another 
blanket.  That,  he  decided,  was  the  foreman. 
Letting  his  gaze  wander  around  the  lighted  circle 
he  made  out  a  figure  squatting  on  the  other  side 
of  the  fire,  and  concluded  it  was  Sammy  Porter. 
**What  you  doin'.  Kid?"  he  asked. 

Sammy  arose  and  walked  over  to  him.  "Oh, 
just  watchin'  a  fool  puncher  an'  five  hundred 
dollars,"  he  grinned.  "How  you  feelin'  now, 
you  ol'  sage  hen?" 

[348] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

"  Good,"  replied  the  invalid,  and,  compara- 
tively, it  was  the  truth.  "Fine  an'  strong,"  he 
added,  which  was  not  the  truth. 

"That 's  the  way  to  talk,"  cheered  the  Cub. 
"You  shore  had  one  fine  seance.  You  earned 
that  five  hundred,  all  right," 

Hopalong  reflected  and  then  looked  across  at 
the  prisoner.  "He  can  fight  like  the  devil,"  he 
muttered.  "Why,  I  kicked  him  hard  enough  to 
kill  anybody  else."  He  turned  again  and  looked 
Sammy  in  the  eyes,  smiling  as  best  he  could. 
"There  ain't  no  five  hundred  for  me,  Kid.  I 
did  n't  come  for  that,  did  n't  know  nothin'  about 
it.  An'  it 's  blood  money,  besides.  We  '11  turn 
him  loose  if  he  '11  get  out  of  the  country,  hey? 
We  '11  give  him  a  chance;  either  that  or  you  take 
th'  reward." 

Sammy  stared,  grunted  and  stared  again. 
"What  you  ravin'  about?"  he  demanded.  "An' 
you  didn't  come  after  him  for  that  money?"  he 
asked,  sarcastically. 

Hopalong  nodded  and  smiled  again.  "That 's 
right,    Kid,"    he    answered,    thoughtfully.     "I 

[349] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

come  down  to  make  him  get  out  of  th'  country. 
^Tou  let  him  go  after  we  get  out  of  this.  I 
reckon  I  got  yore  share  of  the  reward  right  here 
in  my  pocket;  purty  near  that  much,  anyhow. 
You  take  it  an'  let  him  vamoose.  What  you 
say?" 

Sammy  rose,  angry  and  disgusted.  His  an- 
ger spoke  first.  "You  go  to  h — ^1  with  yore 
money!  I  don't  want  it!"  Then,  slowly  and 
wonderingly  spoke  his  disgust.  ''He's  yourn; 
do  what  you  want.  But  I  here  remarks,  frank 
an'  candid,  open  an'  so  all  may  hear,  that  yo  're 
a  large,  puzzlin'  d — d  fool.  Now  lay  back  on 
that  blanket  an'  go  to  sleep  afore  I  changes  my 
mind!" 

Sammy  drifted  past  the  prisoner  and  looked 
down  at  him.  ''Hear  that?"  he  demanded. 
There  was  no  answer  and  he  grunted.  "Huh! 
You  heard  it,  all  right;  an'  it  plumb  stunned 
you."  Passing  on  he  grabbed  the  last  blanket 
in  sight,  it  was  on  the  foreman's  horse,  and  rolled 
up  in  it,  feet  to  the  fire.  His  gun  he  placed 
under  the  saddle  he  had  leaned  against,  which 

[350] 


SAMMY  KNOWS  THE  GAME 

now  made  his  pillow.  As  he  squirmed  into  the 
most  comfortable  position  he  could  find  under 
the  circumstances  he  raised  his  head  and  glanced 
across  at  his  friend.  "Huh!"  he  growled 
softly.  "That 's  th'  worst  of  them  sentimental 
fellers.  That  gal  shore  wrapped  him  'round 
her  li'l  finger  all  right.  Oh,  well,"  he  sighed. 
"Tain't  none  of  my  doin's,  thank  the  Lord;  I 
got  sense!"  And  with  the  satisfaction  of  this 
thought  still  warm  upon  him  he  closed  his  eyes 
and  went  to  sleep,  confident  that  the  slightest 
sound  would  awaken  him;  and  fully  justified  in 
his  confidence. 


[351] 


XIII 
HIS  CODE 

MR.  "YOUBET"  SOMES,  erstwhile  fore- 
man of  the  Two-X-Two  ranch,  in  Ari- 
zona, and  now  out  of  a  job,  rode  gloomily  to- 
ward Kit,  a  town  between  him  and  his  destina- 
tion. 

Needless  to  say,  he  was  a  cowman  through 
and  through.  More  than  that,  he  was  so  satu- 
rated with  cowmen's  traditions  as  to  resent  pug- 
naciously anything  which  flouted  them. 

He  was  of  the  old  school,  and  would  not  sub- 
mit quietly  to  two  things,  among  others,  which 
an  old-school  cowman  hated — wire  fences  and 
sheep.  To  this  he  owed  his  present  ride,  for  he 
hated  wire  fences  cordially.  They  meant  the 
passing  of  the  free,  open  range,  of  straight  trails 
across  country;  they  meant  a  great  change,  an 
intolerable  condition. 

"Yessir,  bronch!     Things  are  gettin'  damn- 


HIS  CODE 

abler  every  year,  with  th'  railroads,  tourists,  nest- 
ers,  barb'  wire,  an'  sheep.  Last  year,  it  was  a 
windmill,  that  screeched  till  our  hair  riz  up.  It 
wouldn't  work  when  we  wanted  it  to,  an'  we 
could  n't  stop  it  when  it  once  got  started. 

"It  gave  us  no  sleep,  no  peace;  an'  it  killed 
Bob  Cousins — swung  round  with  th'  wind  an' 
knocked  him  off  'n  th'  platform,  sixty  feet,  to 
th'  ground.  Bob  alius  did  like  to  monkey  with 
th'  buzz  saw.  I  shore  told  him  not  to  go  up 
there,  because  th'  cussed  thing  was  loaded;  but, 
bein'  mule-headed,  he  knowed  more  'n  me. 

"But  this  year !  Lord — ^but  that  was  an  awful 
pile  of  wire,  bronch!  Three  strands  high,  an' 
over  a  hundred  an'  fifty  miles  round  that  pas- 
ture. That  was  a'  insult,  bronch;  an'  I  never 
swaller  'em.  That 's  what  put  me  an'  you  out 
here,  in  th'  middle  of  nowhere,  tryin'  to  find  a 
way  out.  G'wan,  now!  You  ain't  goin'  to  rest 
till  I  gets  off  you.     G'wan,  I  told  you  I" 

Mr.  Somes  was  riding  east,  boimd  for  the  Bar- 
20,  where  he  had  friends.  For  a  year  or  two, 
he  had  heard  persistent  rumors  to  the  effect 

[358] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

that  Buck  Peters  had  more  cows  than  he  knew 
what  to  do  with;  and  he  argued  rightly  that  the 
Bar-20  foreman  could  find  a  place  for  an  old 
friend,  whose  ability  was  unquestioned.  Of  one 
thing  he  was  certain — there  were  no  wire  fences, 
down  there. 

It  was  dusk  when  he  dismounted  in  front  of 
Logan's,  in  Kit,  and  went  inside.  The  bar- 
tender glanced  up,  reaching  for  a  bottle  on  the 
shelf  beside  him. 

Youbet  nodded.  "You  got  it  first  pop.  Have 
one  with  me.  I  'm  countin'  on  staying  over  in 
town  tonight.     Got  a  place  for  me?" 

"Shore  have — ^upstairs  in  th'  attic.  Want 
grub,  too?'* 

"Well,  I  sorter  hope  to  have  somethin'  to  eat 
afore  I  pull  out.  Here's  how!"  And  when 
Mr.  Somes  placed  his  empty  glass  on  the  bar,  he 
smiled  good-naturedly.  "That 's  good  stuff. 
Much  goin'  on  in  town?" 

"Reckon  you  can  get  a  game  most  anywhere." 

"Where  do  I  get  that  grub?     Here?" 

"No— down  th'  street.    Ridin'  far?" 

[354] 


HIS  CODE 

"Yes — a  little.  Goin'  down  to  th'  Bar- 
20  for  a  job  punchin'.  I  hear  Peters  has  got 
more  cows  than  he  can  handle.  Know  anybody- 
down  there  you  wants  to  send  any  word  to?" 

"I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  know,"  laughed  the  bar- 
tender. *'I  know  a  lot  of  fellers,  but  they  shift 
so  I  can't  keep  track  of  'em,  nohow." 

A  man  in  a  far  corner  pushed  back  his  chair, 
and  approached  the  bar,  scowling  as  he  glanced 
at  Youbet.     "Gimme  another,"  he  ordered. 

"Why,  hullo,  stranger!"  exclaimed  Youbet. 
"I  did  n't  see  you  before.     Have  one  with  me." 

The  other  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes. 
"Ex-cuse  me,  stranger — I  'm  a  sheepman,  an'  I 
don't  drink  with  cowmen." 

"Well,  ex-cuse  me!"  retorted  Youbet,  like  a 
flash.  "If  I  'd  'a'  knowed  you  was  a  sheepman, 
I  wouldn't  'a'  asked  you!" 

The  sheepman  drank  his  liquor  and,  returning 
to  his  corner,  placed  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and 
his  chin  in  his  hands,  apparently  paying  no  fur- 
ther attention  to  the  others, 

"If  I  can't  get  a  job  with  Peters,  I  can  try  th' 

[355] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

C-80  or  Double  Arrow,"  continued  Youbet,  as 
he  toyed  with  his  glass.  "If  I  can't  get  on  with 
one  of  them,  I  reckons  WaflBes,  of  th'  0-Bar-O, 
will  find  a  place  for  me,  though  I  don't  like  that 
country  a  whole  lot." 

The  bartender  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "Do 
you  know  Waffles?"  he  asked. 

"Shore — ^know  'em  all.  Why?  Do  you 
know  him,  too?" 

"No;  but  I  've  heard  of  him." 

"That  so?  He's  a  good  feller,  he  is.  I've 
punched  with  both  him  an'  Peters." 

"I  heard  he  wasn't,"  replied  the  bartender, 
slowly  but  carelessly. 

"Then  you  heard  wrong,  all  right,"  rejoined 
Youbet.  "He's  one  of  us  old  fellers — abates 
sheep,  barb'  wire,  an'  nesters  as  bad  as  I  do ;  an' 
sonny,"  he  contmued,  warming  as  he  went  on. 
"Th'  cow  country  ain't  what  it  used  to  be — not 
no  way.  I  can  remember  when  there  war  n't  no 
wire,  no  nesters,  an'  no  sheep.  An',  between 
you  and  me,  I  don't  know  which  is  th'  worst. 
Every  time  I  runs  up  agin'  one  of  'em,  I  says 

IS56'] 


HIS  CODE 

it  *s  th'  worst;  but  I  guew  it 's  ju«t  about  a  even 
break." 

**I  heard  about  yore  friend  Waffles  through 
sheep,"  replied  the  bartender.  "He  chased  a 
sheep  outfit  out  of  a  hill  range  near  his  ranch, 
an'  killed  a  couple  of  'em,  a-doin'  it." 

"Served  'em  right — served  'em  right,"  re- 
sponded Youbet,  turning  and  walking  toward 
the  door.  "They  ain't  got  no  business  on  n 
cattle  range — ^not  nohow." 

The  man  in  the  corner  started  to  follow,  half 
raising  his  hand,  as  though  to  emphasize 
something  he  was  about  to  say;  but  changed 
his  mind,  and  sullenly  resumed  his  brooding 
attitude. 

"Reckon  I  '11  put  my  cayuse  in  yore  corral, 
an'  look  th'  town  over,"  Youbet  remarked,  over 
his  shoulder.  "Remember,  yo  're  savin'  a  bed 
for  me." 

As  he  stepped  to  the  street,  the  man  in  the 
corner  lazily  arose  and  looked  out  of  the  window, 
swearing  softly  while  he  watched  the  man  who 
hated  sheep. 

[357] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

*'Well,  there  's  another  friend  of  yore  busi- 
ness," laughed  the  bartender,  leaning  back  to  en- 
joy the  other's  discomfiture.  ""He  don't  like 
'em,  neither." 

"He  's  a  fool  of  a  mossback,  so  far  behind  th' 
times  he  don't  know  who  's  President,"  retorted 
the  other,  still  staring  down  the  street. 

"Well,  he  don't  know  that  this  has  got  to  be 
a  purty  fair  sheep  town — that 's  shore." 

"He  '11  find  out,  if  he  makes  many  more  talks 
like  that — an'  that  ain't  no  dream,  neither!" 
snapped  the  sheepman.  He  wheeled,  and 
frowned  at  the  man  behind  the  bar.  "You  see 
what  he  gets,  if  he  opens  his  cow  mouth  in  here 
tonight.  Th'  boys  hate  this  kind  real  fervent; 
an'  when  they  finds  out  that  he  's  a  side  pardner 
of  that  coyote  Waffles,  they  won't  need  much 
excuse.     You  wait — that 's  all !" 

"Oh,  what 's  th'  use  of  gettin'  all  riled  up 
about  it?"  demanded  the  bartender  easily.  "He 
did  n't  know  you  was  a  sheepman,  when  he  made 
his  first  break.  An'  lenmie  tell  you  somethin' 
you  want  to  remember — them  old-time  cowmen 

[358] 


HIS  CODE 

can  use  a  short  gun  somethin'  slick.  They  've  got 
'em  trained.  Bet  he  can  work  th'  double  roll 
without  shootin'  hisself  full  of  lead."  The 
speaker  grinned  exasperatingly. 

"Yes!"  exploded  the  sheepman,  who  had  tried 
to  roll  two  guns  at  once,  and  had  spent  ten  days 
in  bed  as  a  result  of  it. 

The  bartender  laughed  softly  as  he  recalled 
the  incident.  "Have  you  tried  it  since?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"Go  to  th'  devil!"  grinned  the  other,  heading 
for  the  door,  "But  he  '11  get  in  trouble,  if  he 
spouts  about  hatin'  sheep,  when  th'  boys  come 
in.  You  better  get  him  drunk  an'  lock  him  in  th' 
attic,  before  then." 

"G'wan!  I  ain't  playin'  guardian  to  nobody," 
rejoined  the  bartender.  "But  remember  what  I 
said — ^them  old  fellers  can  use  'em  slick  an' 
rapid." 

The  sheepman  went  out  as  Youbet  returned; 
and  the  latter  seated  himself,  crossing  his  legs 
and  drawing  out  his  pipe. 

The   bartender   perfunctorily   drew   a   cloth 

[359] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

across  the  bar,  and  smiled.  "So  you  don't  like 
wire,  sheep,  or  nesters,''  he  remarked. 

Mr.  Somes  looked  up,  in  surprise,  forgetting 
that  he  held  a  lighted  match  between  thumb  and 
finger.  "Like 'em  1  Huh,  I  reckon  not.  I'm 
lookin'  for  a  job  because  of  wire.  H — ^1!"  he 
exclaimed,  dropping  the  match,  and  rubbing  his 
finger.  "That 's  twice  I  did  that  fool  thing  in 
a  week,"  he  remarked,  in  apology  and  self-con- 
demnation, and  struck  another  match. 

"I  was  foreman  of  my  ranch  for  nigh  onto 
ten  years.  It  was  a  good  ranch,  an'  I  was  sat- 
isfied till  last  year,  when  they  made  me  put  up 
a  windmill  that  did  n't  mill,  but  screeched  awful. 
I  stood  for  that  because  I  could  get  away  from 
it  in  th'  daytime. 

"But  this  year!  One  day,  not  very  long  ago, 
I  got  a  letter  from  th'  owners,  an'  it  says  for  me 
to  build  a  wire  fence  around  our  range.  It  went 
on  to  say  that  there  was  two  carloads  of  barb' 
wire  at  Mesquite.  We  was  to  tote  that  wire 
home,  an'  start  in.  If  two  carloads  wasn't 
enough,  they'd  send  us  more.    We  had  one 

[360] 


HIS  CODE 

busted-down  grub  waggin,  an'  Mesquite  shore 
was  fifty  miles  away — which  meant  a  whoppin' 
long  job  totin'. 

"When  I  saw  th'  boys,  that  night,  I  told  'em 
that  I  'd  got  orders  to  raise  their  pay  five  dollars 
a  month — which  made  'em  cheer.  Then  I  told 
'em  that  was  so  providin'  they  helped  me  build 
a  barb'  wire  fence  around  th'  range — which 
did  n't  make  'em  cheer. 

"Th'  boundary  lines  of  th'  range  we  was  usin' 
was  close  onto  a  hundred  an'  fifty  miles  long,  an' 
three  strands  of  wire  along  a  trail  like  that  is 
some  job.  We  was  to  put  th'  posts  twelve  feet 
apart,  an'  they  was  to  be  five  feet  outen  th' 
ground  an'  four  feet  in  it — which  makes  'em 
nine  feet  over  all. 

"There  was  n't  no  posts  at  Mesquite.  Them 
posts  was  supposed  to  be  growin'  freelike  on  th' 
range,  just  waitin'  for  us  to  cut  'em,  skin  'em, 
tote  an'  drop  'em  every  twelve  feet  along  a  line 
a  hundred  an'  fifty  miles  long.  An'  then  there 
was  to  be  a  hole  dug  for  every  post,  an'  tampin', 
staplin',  an'  stringin'  that  hell-wire.    An'  don't 

[S61] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

forget  that  lone,  busted-down  grub  waggin  that 
was  to  do  that  totinM 

"There  was  some  excitement  on  th'  Two-X- 
Two  that  night,  an'  a  lot  of  figgerin';  us  bein' 
some  curious  about  how  many  posts  was  needed, 
an'  how  many  holes  we  was  to  dig  to  fit  th'  afore- 
said posts.  We  made  it  sixty-six  thousand. 
Think  of  it!  An'  only  eight  of  us  to  tackle  a 
job  like  that,  an'  ride  range  at  th'  same  time!" 

"Oh,  ho!"  roared  the  bartender,  hugging  him- 
self, and  trying  to  carry  a  drink  to  the  narrator 
at  the  same  time.     "Go  on!     That 's  good!" 

"Is,  is  it?"  snorted  Youbet.  "Huh!  You 
wouldn't  'a'  thought  so,  if  you  was  one  of  us 
eight.  Well,  I  set  right  down  an'  writ  a  long 
letter — ^took  six  cents'  worth  of  stamps — an' 
gave  our  views  regardin'  wire  fences  in  general 
an'  this  one  of  ourn  in  particular.  I  hated 
fences,  an'  do  yet;  an'  so  'd  my  boys  hate  'em,  an' 
they  do  yet. 

"In  due  time,  I  got  a  answer,  which  come  for 
two  cents.     It  says:     *Build  that  fence.' 

"I   sent   Charley  over  to  Mesquite  to  look 

[362] 


HIS  CODE 

over  them  cars  of  wire.  He  saw  'em,  both  of 
'em.    An'  th'  agent  saw  him. 

"Th'  agent  was  a'  important  man,  an'  he  grabs 
Charley  quick.  'Hey,  you  Two-X-Two  puncher 
— you  get  that  wire  home  quick.  It  went  past 
here  three  times  before  they  switched  it,  an'  I  've 
been  gettin'  blazes  from  th'  company  ever  since. 
We  needs  th'  cars.' 

"  'Don't  belong  to  me,'  says  Charley.  'I 
shore  don't  want  it.  I  'm  eatin'  beans  an'  bacon 
instead.' 

"'You  send  for  that  wire!'  yells  th'  agent, 
wild-like. 

"Charley  winks.  'Can't  you  keep  it  passin' 
this  station  till  it  snows  hard?    Have  a  drink.' 

"Well,  th'  agent  wouldn't  drink,  an'  he 
wouldn't  send  that  pore  wire  out  into  a  cold 
world  no  more;  an'  so  Charley  comes  home  an' 
reports,  him  lookin'  wanlike.  When  he  told  us, 
he  looked  sort  of  funny,  an'  blurts  out  that  his 
mother  went  an'  died  up  in  Laramie,  an'  he  must 
shore  'nufF  rustle  up  there  an'  bury  her.  He 
went. 

[363] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Then  Fred  Ball  begun  to  have  pains  in  his 
stomach,  an'  said  it  was  appendix  somethin',  what 
he  had  been  readin'  about  in  th'  papers.  He  had 
to  go  to  Denver,  an'  get  a  good  doctor,  or  he  'd 
shore  die.     He  went. 

"Carson  had  to  go  to  Santa  Fe  to  keep  some 
of  his  numerous  city  lots  from  bein'  sold  off  by 
th'  sheriff.     He  went. 

"Th'  rest,  bein'  handicapped  by  th'  good  start 
th'  others  had  made  in  corrallin'  all  th'  excuses, 
said  they  'd  go  for  th'  wire.     They  went. 

"I  waited  four  days,  an'  then  I  went  after 
'em.  When  I  got  to  th'  station,  I  sees  th'  agent 
out  sizin'  up  our  wire;  an'  when  I  hails,  he  jumps 
my  way  quick,  an'  grabs  my  laig  tight. 

"  *You  take  that  wire  home!'  he  yells. 

"  'Shore,'  says  I  soothingly.  'You  looks  mad,' 
I  adds. 

"  'Mad!  Mad!'  he  shouts,  hoppin'  round,  but 
hangin'  onto  my  laig  like  grim  death.  'Mad! 
I  'm  goin'  loco — crazy!  I  can't  sleep!  There  's 
twenty  letters  an'  messages  on  my  table,  tellin' 
me  to  get  that  wire  off 'n  th'  cars  an'  send  th'  emp- 

[S64] 


HIS  CODE 

ties  back  on  th'  next  freight  1  You've  got  to 
take  it— ^0^  to!" " 

The  bartender  shocked  his  nervous  system  by 
drinking  plain  water  by  mistake,  but  he  listened 
eagerly.     "Yes?    What  then?" 

''Well,  then  I  asks  him  where  I  can  find  mv 
men,  an'  team,  an'  waggin'.  He  tells  me.  Th' 
team  an'  waggin  is  in  a  corral  down  th'  street, 
but  he  don't  know  where  th'  men  are.  They 
held  a  gun  to  his  head,  an'  said  they  'd  kill  him 
if  he  didn't  flag  th'  next  train  for  'em.  Th' 
next  train  was  a  through  express,  carryin'  mail. 
He  was  n't  dead. 

"He  showed  me  ten  more  letters  an'  messages, 
regardin'  th'  flaggin'  of  a  contract-mail  train  for 
four  fares;  an'  some  of  them  letters  must  'a' 
been  written  by  a  old-time  cowman,  they  was 
that  eloquent  an'  God-fearin'.     Then  I  went. 

"Why,  Charley  was  twenty  years  old;  an'  we 
figgered  that,  when  th'  last  staple  was  drove  in 
th'  last  post,  he'd  'a'  been  dead  ten  years! 
Where  did  I  come  in,  the — ?" 

"Oh,  Lord!"  sighed  the  bartender,  holding  his 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

sides,  and  trying  to  straighten  his  face  so  that  he 
could  talk  out  of  the  middle  of  it.  "That 's  th' 
best  ever!     Have  another  drink!" 

*'I  ain't  tellin'  my  troubles  for  liquor,"  snorted 
Youbet.  "You  have  one  with  me.  Here  comes 
some  customers  down  th'  street,  I  reckon." 

"Say!"  exclaimed  the  bartender  hurriedly. 
"You  keep  mum  about  sheep.  This  is  a  red-hot 
sheep  town,  an'  it  hates  Waffles  an'  all  his 
friends.  Hullo,  boys!"  he  called  to  four  men, 
who  filed  into  the  room.  "Where  's  th'  rest  of 
you?" 

"Comin'  in  later.  Same  thing,  Jimmy,"  re- 
plied Clayton,  chief  herder.  "An'  give  us  th' 
cards." 

"Have  you  seen  Price?"  asked  Towne. 

"Yes;  he  was  in  here  a  few  minutes  ago. 
What  'd  you  say,  Schultz?"  the  bartender  asked, 
turning  to  the  man  who  pulled  at  his  sleeve. 

"I  said  dot  you  vas  nod  right  aboud  vat  you 
said  de  odder  day.  Chust  now  I  ask  Glayton, 
und  he  said  you  vas  nod." 

"All  right,  Dutchy— all  right!"  laughed  the 

[366] 


HIS  COPE 

bartender.  "Then  it's  on  me  this  time,  ain't 
it?" 

Youbet  walked  to  the  bar.  "Say,  where  do  I 
get  that  grub?  It's  about  time  for  me  to 
mosey  off  an'  feed." 

"Next  building — and  you'll  take  mutton  if 
yo  're  wise,"  replied  the  bartender,  in  a  low  voice. 
"Th'  hash  is  awful,  an'  the  beef  is  tough,"  he 
added,  a  little  louder. 

"Mutton  be  damned!"  snorted  Youbet,  stamp- 
ing out.  "I  eat  what  I  punch  1"  And  his  growls 
became  lost  in  the  street. 

Schultz  glanced  up.  "Yah!  Und  he  shoot 
vat  /  eat,  tam  him,  ven  he  gan!" 

"Oh,  put  yore  ante  in,  an'  don't  talk  so  much!" 
rejoined  Towne.     "He  ain't  going  to  shoot  you/' 

"It  '11  cost  you  two  bits  to  come  in,"  remarked 
Clayton. 

"An'  two  more,"  added  Towne,  raising  the 
ante. 

"Goot!  I  blay  mit  you.  But  binochle  iss 
der  game!" 

"I  '11  tell  you  a  good  story  about  a  barb'  wire 

[367] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

fence    tomorrow,    fellers,"    promised    the    bar- 
tender, grinning 

The  poker  game  had  been  going  for  some  time 
before  further  remarks  were  made  about  the  cow- 
man who  had  left,  and  then  it  was  Clayton  who 
spoke. 

"Say,  Jimmy!"  he  remarked,  as  Schultz  dealt. 
"Who  is  yore  leather-pants  friend  who  don't  like 
mutton?" 

The  bartender  lifted  a  bottle,  and  replaced  it 
with  great  care.  "Oh,  just  a  ranch  foreman, 
out  of  a  job.    He 's  a  funny  old  feller." 

"So?  An'  what 's  so  funny  about  him?  Get 
in  there,  Towne,  if  you  wants  to  do  any  playin' 
with  us." 

"Why,  he  was  ordered  to  build  a  hundred  an' 
fifty  miles  of  wire  fence  around  his  range,  an'  he 
jumped  ruther  than  do  it." 

"Yas — an'  most  of  it  government  land,  I 
reckon,"  interposed  Towne. 

"Pshaw!  It's  an  old  game  with  them," 
laughed  Clayton.     "Th'  law  don't  get  to  them; 

[S68] 


HIS  CODE 

an'  if  they  Ve  got  a  good  outfit,  nobody  has  got 
any  chance  agin  'em." 

"Py  Gott,  dot 's  right!"  grunted  Schultz. 

"Shore,  it  is,"  responded  Towne,  forgetting 
the  game.  "Take  that  Apache  Hills  run-in. 
Waffles  did  n't  have  no  more  right  to  that  range 
than  anybody  else,  but  that  did  n't  make  no  dif- 
ference. He  threw  a  couple  of  outfits  in  there, 
penned  us  in  th'  cabin,  killed  MacKay,  an' 
shot  th'  rest  of  us  up  plenty.  Then  he  threat- 
ened to  slaughter  our  herd  if  we  did  n't  pull  out. 
By  God,  I  'd  like  to  get  a  cowman  like  him  up 
here,  where  th'  tables  are  turned  around  on  th' 
friends  proposition." 

"Hullo,  boys!"  remarked  the  bartender  to  the 
pair  who  came  in. 

"Just  in  time.  Get  chairs,  an'  take  hands," 
invited  Clayton,  moving  over. 

"Who's  th'  cowman  yo 're  talkin'  about?" 
asked  Baxter,  as  he  leaned  lazily  against  the 
bar. 

"Oh,  all  of  'em,"  rejoined  Towne  surlily. 
"There  's  one  in  town,  now,  who  don't  like  sheep." 

[869] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"That  so?"  queried  Baxter  slowly.  "I 
reckon  he  better  keep  his  mouth  shut,  then." 

"Oh,  he  's  all  right!  He  's  a  jolly  old  geezer," 
assured  the  bartender.  "He  just  talks  to  hear 
hisself — one  of  them  old-timers  what  can't  get 
right  to  th'  way  things  has  changed  on  th'  range. 
It  was  them  boys  that  did  great  work  when  th' 
range  was  wild." 

"Yes,  an'  it 's  them  bull-headed  old  fools  what 
are  raisin'  all  th'  hell  with  th'  sheep,"  retorted 
Towne,  frowning  darkly  as  he  remembered  some 
of  the  indignities  he  had  borne  at  the  hands  of 
cowmen. 

"I  wish  his  name  was  Waffles."  Clayton 
smiled  significantly. 

"Rainin'  again,"  remarked  a  man  in  the  door- 
way, stamping  in.  "Reckon  it  ain't  never  goin' 
to  stop." 

"Where  you  been  so  long,  Price?"  asked  Clay- 
ton, as  a  salutation. 

"Oh,  just  shiftin'  about.  That  cow  wrastler 
raised  th'  devil  in  th'  hotel,"  Price  replied.  "Old 
fool!    They  brought  him  mutton,  an'  he  wanted 

[370] 


HIS  CODE 

to  clean  out  th'  place.  Said  he  'd  as  soon  eat 
barb'  wire.  They  're  f  eedin'  him  hash  an'  canned 
stuff,  now." 

*'He  'II  get  Kurt,  if  he  don't  look  out,"  re- 
marked Clayton.     "Who  is  he,  anyhow,  Price?" 

"Don't  know  his  name ;  but  he  's  from  Arizona, 
on  his  way  to  th'  Pecos  country.  Says  he  's  a 
friend  of  Buck  Peters  an'  Waffles.  To  use  one 
of  his  own  expressions,  he  's  a  old  mosshead." 

"Friend  of  Waffles,  hey?"  exclaimed  Towne. 

"Yumpin'  Yimminy!"  cried  Oleson,  in  the 
same  breath. 

"Well,  if  he  knows  when  he 's  well  off,  he  '11 
stay  away  from  here,  an'  keep  his  mouth  closed," 
said  Clayton. 

"Aw,  let  him  alone!  He 's  one  agin'  th'  whole 
town — an'  a  good  old  feller,  at  that,"  hastily  as- 
sured the  bartender.  "It  ain't  his  fault  that 
Waffles  buffaloed  you  fellers  out  of  th'  Hills,  is 
it?  He's  goin'  on  early  tomorrow;  so  let  him 
be." 

"You  '11  get  yoreself  in  trouble,  Jimmy,  m' 
boy,   if  you  inserts  yoreself  in  this,"   warned 

[371] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

Towne.  "It  was  us  agin'  a  whole  section,  an* 
we  got  ours.  Let  him  take  his,  if  he  talks  too 
much." 

"Shore,"  replied  Price.  "I  heard  him  shoot 
off  his  mouth,  an  hour  ago,  an'  he's  got  alto- 
gether too  much  to  say.  You  mind  th'  bar  an' 
yore  own  business,  Jimmy.     We  ain't  kids." 

"Go  you  two  bits  better,"  said  Clayton,  shov- 
ing out  a  coin.  "Gimme  some  cards,  Towne. 
It  '11  cost  you  a  dollar  to  see  our  raises." 

Baxter  walked  over  to  watch  the  play.  "I  'm 
comin'  in  next  game.     Who  's  winnin',  now?" 

"Reckon  I  am;  but  we  ain't  much  more  'n  got 
started,"  Clayton  replied.  "Did  you  call, 
Towne?  Why,  I  've  got  three  little  tens.  You 
got  anythin'  better?" 

"Never  saw  such  luck!"  exclaimed  Towne  dis- 
gustedly.    "Dutchy,  yo  're  a  Jonah." 

"Damn  th'  mutton,  says  I.  It  was  even  in 
that  hash !"  growled  a  voice,  just  outside  the  door. 

A  moment  later,  Youbet  Somes  entered, 
swinging  his  sombrero  energetically  to  shake  off 
the  water. 

[372] 


HIS  CODE 

"Damn  th'  rain,  too,  an'  this  wart  of  a  town. 
A  man  can't  get  nothin'  fit  to  eat  for  love  or 
money,  on  a  sheep  range.  Gimme  a  drink, 
sonny !  Mebby  it  '11  cut  th'  taste  of  that  rank 
tallow  out  'n  my  mouth.  Th'  reason  there  is 
sheep  on  this  earth  of  our'n  is  that  th'  devil 
chased  'em  out  'n  his  place — an'  no  blame  to  him." 

He  drank  half  his  liquor,  and,  placing  the 
glass  on  the  bar  beside  him,  turned  to  watch  the 
game.  "Ah,  strangers — that 's  th'  only  game, 
after  all.  I  've  dabbled  in  'em  all  from  faro  to 
roulette,  but  that 's  th'  boss  of  'em  all." 

"See  you  an'  call,"  remarked  Clayton,  ignor- 
ing the  newcomer.  "What  you  got,  you  Dutch 
pagan?" 

''Zwei  Kaisers  und  a  bair  of  chackasses,  mit  a 
deuce." 

"Kings  up!"  exclaimed  Clayton.  "Why,  say 
— you  bet  th'  worst  of  anybody  I  ever  knew! 
You  '11  balk  on  bettin'  two  bits  on  threes,  and 
plunge  on  a  bluff.  I  reckoned  you  did  n't  have 
nothin'.  Why  ain't  you  more  consistent?"  he 
asked,  winking  at  Towne. 

[373] 


I 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIPY 

"Gonsisdency  iss  no  chewel  in  dis  game — it 
means  go  broke,"  placidly  grunted  Schultz,  rak- 
ing in  his  winnings. 

His  friend  Schneider  smiled. 

"Coyotes  are  gettin'  too  numerous,  this  year," 
Baxter  remarked,  shuffling. 

Youbet  pushed  his  sombrero  back  on  his  head. 
"They  don't  get  numerous  on  a  cow  range,"  he 
said  significantly. 

"Huh!"  snorted  Baxter.  "They've  got  too 
much  respect  to  stay  on  one  longer  than  they  've 
got  to." 

"They'd  ruther  be  with  their  woolly-coated 
cousins,"  rejoined  the  cowman  quietly.  It  was 
beneath  his  dignity  as  a  cowman  to  pay  much  at- 
tention to  what  sheepmen  said,  yet  he  could  not 
remain  silent  under  such  a  remark. 

He  regarded  sheep  herders,  those  human  be- 
ings who  walked  at  their  work,  as  men  who  had 
reached  the  lowest  rung  in  the  ladder  of  human 
endeavors.  His  belief  was  not  original  with  him, 
but  was  that  of  many  of  his  school.     He  was  a 

[374] 


HIS  CODE 

horseman,  a  mounted  man,  and  one  of  the  aristoc- 
racy of  the  range ;  they  were,  to  him,  the  rabble, 
and  almost  beneath  his  contempt. 

Besides,  it  was  commonly  believed  by  cowmen 
that  sheep  destroyed  the  grass  as  far  as  cattle 
grazing  was  concerned — and  this  was  the  chief 
reason  for  the  animosity  against  sheep  and  their 
herders,  which  burned  so  strongly  in  the  hearts 
of  cattle  owners  and  their  outfits. 

Youbet  drained  his  glass,  and  continued: 
"The  coyote  leaves  th'  cattle  range  for  th'  same 
good  reason  yore  sheep  leave  it — because  they  are 
chased  out,  or  killed.  Naturally,  blood  kin  will 
hang  together  in  banishment." 

"You  know  a  whole  lot,  don't  you?"  snorted 
Clayton,  with  sarcasm.  "Yo  're  shore  wise,  you 
are!" 

"He  is  so  vise  as  a — a  gow,"  remarked  Schultz, 
grinning. 

"You  '11  know  more,  when  you  get  as  old  as 
me,"  replied  the  ex-foreman,  carefully  placing 
the  empty  glass  on  the  bar. 

"I  don't  want  to  get  as  old  as  you,  if  I  have 

[375] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

to  lose  all  my  common  sense,"  retorted  Clayton 
angrily. 

*'An'  be  a  damned  nuisance  generally,"  ob- 
served Towne. 

"I  've  seen  a  lot  of  things  in  my  life,"  Youbet 
began,  trying  to  ignore  the  tones  of  the  others. 
They  were  young  men,  and  he  knew  that  youth 
grew  unduly  heated  in  argument.  "I  saw  th' 
comin'  of  th'  Texas  drive  herds,  till  th'  range 
was  crowded  where  th'  year  before  there  was 
nothin'.  I  saw  th'  comin'  of  th'  sheep — an' 
barb'  wire,  I  'm  sorry  to  say.  Th'  sheep  came 
like  locusts,  leavin'  a  dyin'  range  behind  'em. 
Thin,  half -starved  cattle  showed  which  way  they 
went.  You  can't  tell  me  nothin'  I  don't  know 
about  sheep." 

"An'  I've  seen  sheep  dyin'  in  piles  on  th' 
open  range,"  cried  Clayton,  his  own  wrongs  lash- 
ing him  into  a  rage.  ^T  've  seen  'em  dynamited, 
an'  drowned  and  driven  hell-to-split  over  can- 
yons !  I  've  had  my  men  taunted,  an'  chased,  an' 
killed — killed,  by  God  I — ^just  because  they  tried 
to  make  a'  honest  livin'!    Who  did  it  all?    Who 

[S76] 


HIS  CODE 

killed  my  men  an'  my  sheep?  Who  did  it?"  he 
shouted,  taking  a  short  step  forward,  while  an 
endorsing  growl  ran  along  the  line  of  sheepmen 
at  his  side. 

"Cowpunehers — they  did  it!  They  killed  'em 
— an'  why?  Because  we  tried  to  use  th'  grass 
that  we  had  as  much  right  to  as  they  had — that 's 
why!" 

"Th'  cows  was  here  first,"  replied  Youbet, 
keenly  alert,  but  not  one  whit  abashed  by  the 
odds,  long  as  they  were.  "It  was  theirs  because 
they  was  there  first." 

"It  was  not  theirs,  no  more 'n  th'  sun  was!" 
cried  Towne,  unable  to  allow  his  chief  to  do  all 
the  talking. 

"You  said  you  knowed  Waffles,"  continued 
Clayton  loudly.  "Well,  he  's  another  of  you  old- 
time  cowmen!  He  killed  MacKay — murdered 
him — ^because  we  was  usin'  a  hill  range  a  day's 
ride  from  his  own  grass!  He  had  twenty  men 
like  hisself  to  back  him  up.  If  we  'd  been  as 
many  as  them,  they  wouldn't  'a'  tried  it — an' 
you  know  it!" 

[377] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"I  don't  know  anything  of  th'  kind,  but  I  do 
know — "  began  Youbet;  but  Schultz  interrupted 
him  with  a  remark  intended  to  contain  humor. 

"Ven  you  say  you  doand  know  anyt'ing,  you 
know  somedings;  ven  you  know  dot  you  doand 
know  noddings,  den  you  know  somedings.  Und 
das  iss  so — ^yah." 

*'Who  th'  devil  told  you  to  stick  yore  Dutch 
mouth — "  retorted  Youbet;  but  Clayton  cut 
him  short. 

"So  yo're  a  old-timer,  hey?"  cried  the  sheep- 
man. "Well,  by  God,  yore  old-time  friend 
Waffles  is  a  coward,  a  murderer,  an' — " 

"Yo  're  a  liar!"  rang  out  the  vibrant  voice  of 
the  cowman,  his  gun  out  and  leveled  in  a  flash. 
The  seven  had  moved  forward  as  one  man,  actu- 
ated by  the  same  impulse;  and  their  hands  were 
moving  toward  their  guns  when  the  crashes  of 
Youbet's  weapon  reverberated  in  the  small  room, 
the  acrid  smoke  swirling  around  him  as  though  to 
shield  him  from  the  result  of  his  folly — a  result 
which  he  had  weighed  and  then  ignored. 

Clayton  dropped,  with  his  mouth  still  open. 

[378] 


"Yo're  a  liar!"  rang  out  the  vibrant  voice  of  the  cowman 


HIS  CODE 

Towne's  gun  chocked  back  in  the  scabbard  as  its 
owner  stumbled  Mindly  over  a  chair  and  went 
down,  never  to  rise.  Schultz  fired  once,  and  fell 
back  across  the  table. 

The  three  shots  had  followed  one  another  with 
incredible  quickness ;  and  the  seven,  not  believing 
that  one  man  would  dare  attack  so  many,  had  not 
expected  his  play.  Before  the  stunned  sheep- 
men could  begin  firing,  three  were  dead. 

Price,  badly  wounded,  fired  as  he  plunged  to 
the  wall  for  support;  and  the  other  three  were 
now  wrapped  in  their  own  smoke. 

Wounded  in  several  places,  with  his  gun 
empty,  Youbet  hurled  the  weapon  at  Price,  and 
missed  by  so  narrow  a  margin  that  the  sheepman's 
aim  was  spoiled.  Youbet  now  sprang  to  the  bar, 
and  tried  to  vault  over  it,  to  get  to  the  gun  which 
he  knew  always  lay  on  the  shelf  behind  it.  As 
his  feet  touched  the  upper  edge  of  the  counter, 
he  grunted  and,  collapsing  like  a  jackknife, 
loosed  his  hold,  and  fell  to  the  floor. 

"Mein  Gottr  groaned  Schneider,  as  he  tried 
to  raise  himself.     He  looked  around  in  a  dazed 

[379] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

manner,  hardly  understanding  just  what  had 
happened.     "He  vas  mat;  crazy  mat!" 

Oleson  arose  unsteadily  to  his  feet,  and  groped 
his  way  along  the  wall  to  where  Price  lay. 

The  fallen  man  looked  up,  in  response  to  the 
touch  on  his  shoulder;  and  he  swore  feebly: 
"Damn  that  fool — that  idiot!" 

"Shut  up,  an'  git  out!"  shouted  the  bartender, 
standing  rigidly  upright,  with  a  heavy  Colt  in  his 
upraised  hand.  There  were  tears  in  his  eyes, 
and  his  voice  broke  from  excitement.  "He 
wouldn't  swaller  yore  insults!  He  knowed  he 
was  a  better  man!  Get  out  of  here,  every 
damned  one  of  you,  or  I  '11  begin  where  he 
stopped.     G  'wan — get  outr 

The  four  looked  at  him,  befuddled  and  sorely 
hurt;  but  they  understood  the  attitude,  if  they 
did  not  quite  grasp  the  words — and  they  knew 
that  he  meant  what  he  looked.  Staggering  and 
hobbling,  they  finally  found  the  door,  and 
plunged  out  to  the  street,  to  meet  the  crowd  of 
men  who  were  running  toward  the  building. 

Jimmy,  choking  with  anger  and  with  respect 

[380] 


HIS  CODE 

for  the  man  who  had  preferred  death  to  insults, 
slammed  shut  the  door  and,  dropping  the  bar 
into  place,  turned  and  gazed  at  the  quiet  figure 
huddled  at  the  base  of  the  counter. 

"Old  man,"  he  muttered,  "now  I  understands 
why  th'  sheep  don't  stay  long  on  a  cattle  range." 


[381] 


XIV 
SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

SAMMY  PORTER,  detailed  by  Hopa- 
long,  the  trail-boss,  rode  into  Truxton 
three  days  before  the  herd  was  due,  to  notify  the 
agent  that  cars  were  wanted.  Three  thousand 
three-year-olds  were  on  their  way  to  the  packing 
houses  and  must  be  sent  through  speedily. 
Sammy  saw  the  agent  and,  leaving  him  much  less 
sweeter  in  temper  than  when  he  had  found  him, 
rode  down  the  dismal  street  kicking  up  a  prodi- 
gious amount  of  dust.  One  other  duty  de- 
manded attention  and  its  fulfillment  was  prom- 
ised by  the  sign  over  the  faded  pine  front  of  the 
first  building. 

"Restaurant,"  he  read  aloud.  "That 's  mine. 
Beans,  bacon  an'  biscuits  for  'most  a  month!  But 
now  I  'm  goin'  to  forget  that  Blinky  Thomp- 
kins  ever  bossed  a  trail  wagon  an'  tried  to  cook." 

[382] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

Dismounting,  he  glanced  in  the  window  and 
pulled  at  the  downy  fuzz  trying  to  make  a  show- 
ing on  his  upper  lip.  "Purty,  all  right.  Brown 
hair  an'  I  reckon  brown  eyes.  Nice  li'l  girl. 
Well,  they  don't  make  no  dents  on  me  no  more," 
he  congratulated  himself,  and  entered.  His 
twenty  years  fairly  sagged  with  animosity  to- 
ward the  fair  sex,  the  intermittent  smoke  from 
the  ruins  of  his  last  love  affair  still  painfully  in 
evidence  at  times.  But  careless  as  he  tried  to  be 
he  could  not  banish  the  swaggering  mannerisms 
of  Youth  in  the  presence  of  Maid,  or  change  his 
habit  of  speech  under  such  conditions. 

"Well,  well,"  he  smiled.  "Here  I  'are'  again. 
Li'l  Sammy  in  search  of  his  grub.  An'  if  it 's 
as  nice  as  you  he  '11  shore  have  to  flag  his  outfit 
an'  keep  this  town  all  to  hisself.  Got  any 
chicken?" 

The  maid's  nose  went  up  and  Sammy  noticed 
that  it  tilted  a  trifle,  and  he  cocked  his  head  on 
one  side  to  see  it  better.  And  the  eyes  were 
brown,  very  big  and  very  deep — they  possessed 
a  melting  quality  he  had  never  observed  before. 

[383.] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

The  maid  shinigged  her  shoulders  and  swung 
around,  the  tip-tilt  nose  going  a  bit  higher. 

Sammy  leaned  back  against  the  door  and 
nodded  approval  of  the  slender  figure  in  spic- 
and-span  white.  "Li'l  Sammy  is  a  fer-o-cious 
cow-punch  from  a  chickenless  land/'  he  observed, 
sorrowfully.  "There  ain't  no  kinds  of  chickens. 
Nothin'  but  men  an'  cattle  an'  misguided  cooks; 
an'  beans,  bacon  an'  biscuits.  Li'l  Miss,  have 
you  a  chicken  for  me?" 

"No!"  The  head  went  around  again,  Sammy 
bending  to  one  side  to  see  it  as  long  as  he  could. 
The  pink,  shell-like  ear  that  flirted  with  him 
through  the  loosely-gathered,  rebelKous  hair 
caught  his  attention  and  he  leveled  an  accusing 
finger  at  it.  "Naughty  li'l  ear,  peekin'  at 
Sammy  that-a-wayl  Oh,  you  stingy  girl!"  he 
chided  as  the  back  of  her  head  confronted  him. 
"Well,  Sammy  don't  like  girls,  no  matter  how 
pink  their  ears  are,  or  turned  up  their  noses,  or 
wonderful  their  eyes.  He  just  wants  chicken, 
an'  all  th'  fixin's.  He  '11  be  very  humble  an' 
grateful  to  Li'l  Miss  if  she  '11  tell  him  what  he 

[384] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

can  have.  An'  he  '11  behave  just  like  a  Sunday- 
school  boy. 

"Aw,  you  don't  want  to  get  mad  at  only  me," 
he  continued  after  she  refused  to  answer. 
"Got  any  chicken?  Got  any — eggs?  Lucky 
Sammy!  An'  some  nice  ham?  Two  lucky  Sam- 
mies. An'  some  mashed  potatoes?  Fried? 
Good.  An'  will  Li'l  Miss  please  make  a  brand 
new  cup  of  strong  coffee?  Then  he  '11  go  over 
an'  sit  in  that  nice  chair  an'  watch  an'  listen. 
But  you  oughtn't  get  mad  at  him.  Are  you 
really-an'-truly  mad?" 

She  swept  down  the  room,  into  the  kitchen 
partitioned  off  at  the  farther  end  and  slammed 
the  door.  Sammy  grinned,  tugged  at  his  up- 
per lip  and  fancy-stepped  to  the  table.  He 
smoothed  his  tumbled  hair,  retied  his  neck-ker- 
chief and  dusted  himself  off  with  his  red  ban- 
danna handkerchief.  "Nice  li'l  town,"  he  solil- 
oquized. ''Fine  li'l  town.  Dunno  as  I  ought  to 
go  back  to  th'  herd— Hoppy  did  n't  tell  me  to. 
Reckon  I  '11  stick  in  town  an'  argue  with  th' 
agent.     If  I  argue  with  th'  agent  I  '11  be  busy; 

[385] 


^  THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

an'  I  can't  leave  while  I  'm  busy."  He  leaned 
back  and  chuckled,  "Lucky  me!  If  Hoppy 
had  gone  an'  picked  Johnny  to  argue  with  th' 
agent  for  three  whole  days  where  would  I  be? 
But  I  gotta  keep  Johnny  outa  here,  th'  son-of- 
a-gun.  He  ain't  like  me — ^he  likes  girls;  an'  he 
ain't  bashful." 

He  picked  up  a  paper  lying  on  a  chair  near 
him  and  looked  it  over  until  the  kitchen  door 
squeaked.  She  carried  a  tray  covered  with  a 
snow-white  napkin  which  looked  like  a  topo- 
graphical map  with  its  mountains  and  valleys 
and  plains.  His  chuckle  was  infectious  to  the 
extent  of  a  smile  and  her  eyes  danced  as  she 
placed  his  dinner  before  him. 

"Betcha  it 's  fine,"  he  grinned,  shoveling  sugar 
into  the  inky  coffee.  "Blinky  oughta  have  a 
good  look  at  this  layout." 

"Don't  be  too  sure,"  she  retorted.  "Mrs. 
Olmstead  is  sick  and  I  'm  taking  charge  of 
thmgs  for  her.     I  'm  not  a  good  cook." 

"Nothin  's  th'  matter  with  this,"  he  assured 
her  between  bites.     "Lots  better  'n  most  purty 

[S86] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

girls  can  do.  If  Hopalong  goes  up  against  this 
he  11  offer  you  a  hundred  a  month  an'  throw 
Blinky  in  to  wash  th'  dishes.  But  he  'd  have  to 
'point  me  guard,  or  you  would  n't  have  no  time 
to  do  no  cookin'." 

**You  'd  make  a  fine  guard,"  she  retorted. 

*'Don't  believe  it,  huh?  Jus'  wait  till  you 
know  me  better." 

*'How  do  you  know  I  'm  going  to?" 

**I  'm  a  good  guesser.  Jus'  put  a  li'l  pepper 
right  there  on  that  yalla  spot.  Say,  any  chance 
to  get  a  job  in  this  town?" 

**Why,  I  don't  know." 

"Goin'  to  stay  long?" 

"I  can't  say.  I  won't  go  till  Mra.  01mstea4 
is  weU." 

"Not  meanin*  no  harm  to  Mrs.  Olmstead,  of 
course — ^but  you  don't  have  to  go,  do  you?" 

"I  do  as  I  please." 

"So  I  was  thinkin'.  Now,  'bout  that  job:  any 
chance?    Any  ranches  near  here?" 

"Several.  But  they  want  men.  Are  you  a 
real  cowboy?" 

[387] 


THE  COMING  OF  CAS  SIDY 

Sammy  folded  his  hands  and  shook  his  head 
sorrowfully.  "Huh!  Want  men!  Now  if  I 
only  had  whiskers  like  Blinky.  Why,  'course 
I  'm  a  cowboy.  Regular  one — ^but  I  can  out- 
grow it  easy,  I  'm  a  sorta  maverick  an'  I  'm 
willin'  to  wear  a  nice  brand.  My  name's 
Sammy  Porter,"  he  suggested. 

"That 's  nice.     Mine  is  n't  nice." 

"Easy  to  change  it.     Really  like  mine?" 

"Coffee  strong  enough?" 

"Sumptions.  How  long 's  Mrs.  Olmstead  go- 
ing to  be  sick?" 

Her  face  clouded.  "I  don't  know.  I  hope 
it  will  not  be  for  long.  She  's  had  so  much  trou- 
ble the  past  year.  Oh,  wait!  I  forgot  the 
toast!"  and  she  sped  lightly  away  to  rescue  the 
burning  bread. 

The  front  door  opened  and  slammed  shut,  the 
newcomer  dropping  into  the  nearest  chair.  He 
pounded  on  the  table.  "Hello,  there!  I  want 
somethin'  to  eat,  quick!" 

Sammy  turned  and  saw  a  portly,  flashily 
dressed  drummer  whose  importance  was  written 

[388] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

large  all  over  him.  "Hey!"  barked  the  drum- 
mer, "gimme  something  to  eat.  I  can't  wait  all 
day  I" 

A  vicious  clang  in  the  kitchen  told  that  his 
presence  was  known  and  resented. 

As  Sammy  turned  from  the  stranger  he  caught 
sight  of  a  pretty  flushed  face  disappearing  be- 
hind the  door  jamb,  the  brown  eyes  snapping  and 
the  red  lips  straight  and  compressed.  His 
glance,  again  traveling  to  the  drimimer,  began 
with  the  dusty  patent  leathers  and  went  slowly 
upward,  resting  boldly  on  the  heavy  face.  Sam- 
my's expression  told  nothing  and  the  newcomer, 
glaring  at  him  for  an  instant,  looked  over  the 
menu  card  and  then  stared  at  the  partition,  fid- 
geting in  his  chair,  thumping  meanwhile  on  the 
table  with  his  fingers. 

At  a  sound  from  the  kitchen  Sammy  turned 
back  to  his  table  and  smiled  reassuringly  as  the 
toast  was  placed  before  him.  "I  burned  it  and 
had  to  make  new,"  she  said,  the  pink  spots  in  her 
cheeks  a  little  deeper  in  color. 

"Why,  th'  other  was  good  enough  for  me,"  he 

[389] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

replied.  "Know  Mrs.  Olmstead  a  long  time?" 
he  asked. 

"Ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl.  She  hved 
near  us  in  Clev — " 

"Cleveland,"  he  finished.  "State  of  Ohio,"  he 
added,  laughingly.     "I  '11  get  it  all  before  I  go." 

"Indeed  you  won't!" 

"Miss,"  interrupted  the  drummer,  "if  you  ain't 
too  busy,  would  you  mind  gettin'  me  a  steak  an* 
some  coflfee?"  The  tones  were  weighted  with 
sarcasm  and  Sammy  writhed  in  his  chair.  The 
girl  flushed,  turned  abruptly  and  went  slowly 
into  the  kitchen,  from  where  considerable  noise 
now  emanated.  In  a  short  time  she  emerged 
with  the  drummer's  order,  placed  it  in  front  of 
him  and  started  back  again.  But  he  stopped 
her.  "I  said  I  wanted  it  rare  an'  it 's  well  done. 
An'  also  that  I  wanted  fried  potatoes.  Take 
it  back." 

The  girl's  eyes  blazed:  "You  gave  no  in- 
structions," she  retorted. 

"Don't  tell  me  that!  I  know  what  I  said!" 
snapped  the  drummer.    "I  won't  eat  it  an'  I 

[S90] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

won't  pay  for  it.  If  you  was  n't  so  busy  you  'd 
heard  what  I  said.'' 

Sammy  was  arising  before  he  saw  the  tears  of 
vexation  in  her  eyes,  but  they  settled  it  for  him. 
He  placed  his  hand  lightly  on  her  shoulder. 
"You  get  me  some  pie  an'  take  a  li'l  walk.  Me 
an'  this  here  gent  is  goin'  to  hold  a  palaver. 
Ain't  we,  stranger?" 

The  drummer  glared  at  him.  "We  ain't!"  he 
retorted. 

Sammy  grinned  ingratiatingly.  "Oh,  my; 
but  we  are."  He  slung  a  leg  over  a  chair  back 
and  leaned  forward,  resting  his  elbow  on  his 
knee.  "Yes,  indeed  we  are — ^least-a-wise,  I  am." 
His  tones  became  very  soft  and  confiding.  "An' 
I  'm  shore  goin'  to  watch  you  eat  that  steak." 

"What 's  that  you  're  going  to  do?"  the  drum- 
mer demanded,  half  rising. 

"Sit  down,"  begged  Sammy,  his  gun  swinging 
at  his  knee.  He  picked  up  a  toothpick  with  his 
left  hand  and  chewed  it  reflectively.  "These 
here  Colts  make  a'  awful  muss,  sometimes,"  he 
remarked.     "  'Specially  at  close  range.    Why," 

[391] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

he  confided,  "I  once  knowed  a  man  what  was  shot 
'most  in  two.  He  was  a  moss-head  an'  would  n't 
do  what  he  was  told.  Better  sorta  lead  off  at 
that  steak,  hombre/^  he  suggested,  chewing 
evenly  on  the  toothpick.  Noticing  that  the  girl 
still  lingered,  hypnotized  by  fear  and  curiosity, 
he  spoke  to  her  over  his  shoulder.  ''Won't  you 
please  get  me  that  pie,  or  somethin'?  Run  out 
an'  borrow  a  pan,  or  somethin',"  he  pleaded.  "I 
don't  like  to  be  handicapped  when  I  'm  f eedin' 
cattle." 

The  drummer's  red  face  paled  a  little  and  one 
hand  stole  cautiously  under  his  coat — and  froze 
there.  Sammy  hardly  had  moved,  but  the  Colt 
was  now  horizontal  and  glowered  at  the  gaudy 
waistcoat.  He  was  between  it  and  the  girl  and 
she  did  not  see  the  movement.  His  smile  was 
placid  and  fixed  and  he  spoke  so  that  she  should 
get  no  inkhng  of  what  was  going  on.  "Never 
drink  on  an  empty  stomach,"  he  advised.  "After 
you  eat  that  meal,  then  you  can  fuss  with  yore 
flask  all  you  wants."  He  glanced  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye  at  the  girl  and  nodded.     "Still 

[892] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

there!  Oh,  I  most  forgot,  stranger.  You  take 
off  yore  hat  an'  'pologize,  so  she  can  go.  Jus' 
say  yo  're  a  dawg  an  never  did  have  no  manners. 
Say  it!"  he  ordered,  softly.  The  drummer 
gulped  and  muttered  something,  but  the  Colt, 
still  hidden  from  the  girl  by  its  owner's  body, 
moved  forward  a  little  and  Sammy's  throaty 
growl  put  an  end  to  the  muttering.  "Say  it 
plain,"  he  ordered,  the  color  fading  from  his  face 
and  leaving  pink  spots  against  the  white. 
*'That  's  better — ^now,  Li'l  Miss,  you  get  me  that 
pie — please!"  he  begged. 

When  they  were  alone  Sammy  let  the  gun 
swing  at  his  knee  again.  *T  don't  know  how 
they  treats  wimmin  where  you  came  from, 
stranger ;  but  out  here  we  're  plumb  polite. 
'Course  you  did  n't  know  that,  an'  that 's  why 
you  did  n't  get  all  mussed  up.  Yo  're  jus'  plain 
ignorant  an'  can't  help  yore  bringin'  up.  Now, 
you  eat  that  steak,  pronto!" 

"It 's  too  cold,  now,"  grumbled  the  drummer, 
fidgeting  in  the  chair. 

The  puncher's  left  hand  moved  to  the  table 

£893] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

again  and  when  it  returned  to  his  side  there  was 
a  generous  layer  of  red  pepper  on  the  meat. 
"Easy  to  fix  things  when  you  know  how,"  he 
grinned.  "If  it  gets  any  colder  I  '11  fix  it  some 
more."  His  tones  became  sharper  and  the  words 
lost  their  drawled  softness.  "You  goin'  to  start 
ag'in  that  by  yoreself,  or  am  I  goin'  to  help 
you?"  he  demanded,  lifting  his  leg  off  the  chair 
and  standing  erect.  All  the  humor  had  left  his 
face  and  there  was  a  grimness  about  the  tight  lips 
and  a  menace  in  the  squinting  eyes  that  sent  a 
chill  ripphng  down  the  drummer's  spine.  He 
tasted  a  forkful  of  the  meat  and  gulped  hastily, 
tears  welling  into  his  eyes.  The  puncher  moved 
a  little  nearer  and  watched  the  frantic  gulps 
with  critical  attention.  "  'Course,  you  can  eat 
any  way  you  wants — ^yo  're  payin'  for  it ;  but 
boltin'  like  a  coyote  ain't  good  for  th'  stummick. 
Howsomever,  it 's  yore  grub,"  he  admitted. 

A  cup  of  cold  coffee  and  a  pitcher  of  water 
followed  the  meat  in  the  same  gulping  haste. 
Tears  streamed  down  the  drumimer's  red  face  as 

[394] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

he  arose  and  turned  toward  the  door.  ^'Hol'  on, 
stranger  1"  snapped  Sammy.  "That  costs  six 
bits,"  he  prompted.  The  coins  rang  out  on  the 
nearest  table,  the  door  slammed  and  the  ago- 
nized stranger  ran  madly  down  the  street,  curs- 
ing at  every  jimip.  Sammy  sauntered  to  the 
door  and  craned  his  neck.  "Somebody  's  jus' 
naturally  goin'  to  bust  him  wide  open  one  of 
these  days.  He  ain't  got  no  sense,"  he  muttered, 
turning  back  to  get  his  pie. 

A  cloud  of  dust  rolled  up  from  the  south, 
causing  Briggs  a  little  uneasiness,  and  he  scowled 
through  the  door  at  the  long  empty  siding  and 
the  pens  sprawled  along  it. 

Steps  clacked  across  the  platform  and  a  grin- 
ning cowpuncher  stopped  at  the  open  window. 
"They're  here,"  he  announced.  "How  'bout 
th'  cars?" 

Briggs  looked  aroimd  wearily.  For  three  days 
his  life  had  been  made  miserable  by  this  pest, 
who  carried  a  laugh  in  his  eyes,  a  sting  on  his 

[395] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

tongue  and  a  chip  on  his  shoulder.  "They  '11  be 
here  soon,"  he  replied,  with  little  interest.  "But 
there  's  th'  pens." 

"Yes,  there 's  th'  pens,"  smiled  Sammy. 
"They'll  hold  'bout  one-tenth  of  that  herd. 
Ain't  I  been  pesterin'  you  to  get  them  cars?" 

The  agent  sighed  expressively  and  listened  to 
the  instrument  on  his  table.  When  it  ceased  he 
grabbed  the  key  and  asked  a  question.  Then  he 
smiled  for  the  first  time  that  day.  "They  're 
passing  Franklin,  Be  here  in  two  hours.  Now 
get  out  of  here  or  I  '11  lick  you." 

"There 's  a  nice  place  in  one  of  them  pens," 
smiled  Sammy. 

"I  see  you  're  eating  at  Olmstead's,"  parried 
the  agent. 

"Yea." 

"Nice  girl.  Come  up  last  summer  when  Mrs. 
Olmstead  petered  out.     I  ate  there  last  winter." 

Sammy  grinned  at  him.     "Why  'd  you  stop?" 

Briggs  grew  red  and  glanced  at  the  nearing 
cloud  of  dust.  "Better  help  your  outfit,  had  n't 
you?" 

[396] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

Sammy  was  thoughtful.  "Say,  that 's  a 
plumb  favorite  eatin'  place,  ain't  it?" 

Briggs  laughed.  **Wait  till  Saturday  when 
th'  boys  come  in.  There  's  a  dozen  shinin'  up  to 
that  girl.     Tom  Clarke  is  real  persistent." 

Sammy  forsook  the  building  as  a  prop. 
"Who 'she?    Puncher?" 

"Yes;  an'  bad,"  replied  the  agent.  "But  I 
reckon  she  don't  know  it." 

Sammy  looked  at  the  dust  cloud  and  turned  to 
ask  one  more  question.  "What  does  this  persist- 
ent gent  look  like,  an'  where 's  he  hang  out?" 
He  nodded  at  the  verbose  reply  and  strode  to  his 
horse  to  ride  toward  the  approaching  herd.  He 
espied  Red  first,  and  hailed.  "Cars  here  in  two 
hours.     Where  's  Hoppy?" 

"Back  in  th'  dust.  But  what  happened  to 
you?''  demanded  Red,  with  virile  interest. 
Sanmiy  ignored  the  challenge  and  loped  along 
the  edge  of  the  cloud  until  he  found  the  trail  boss. 
"Them  cars  '11  be  here  in  two  hours,"  he  reported. 

"Take  you  three  days  to  find  it  out?"  snapped 
Hopalong. 

[397], 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Took  me  three  days  to  get  'em.  I  just  about 
um-aveled  that  agent.  He  swears  every  time  he 
hears  a  noise,  thinkin'  it 's  me." 

"Broke?"  demanded  Hopalong. 

Sammy  flushed.  "I  ain't  gambled  a  cent 
since  I  hit  town.  An'  say,  them  pens  won't  hold 
a  tenth  of  'em,"  he  replied,  looking  over  the  dark 
blur  that  heaved  under  the  dust  cloud  like  a  fog- 
covered,  choppy  sea. 

"I  'm  goin'  to  hold  'em  on  grass,"  replied  the 
trail  boss.  "They  ain't  got  enough  cars  on  this 
toy  road  to  move  all  them  cows  in  less  'n  a  week. 
I  ain't  goin'  to  let  'em  lose  no  weight  in  pens. 
Wait  a  minute!  You  're  on  night  herd  for  stay- 
in'  away." 

When  Sammy  rode  into  camp  the  following 
morning  he  scorned  Blinky's  food,  much  to  the 
open-mouthed  amazement  of  that  worthy  and 
Johnny  Nelson.  Blinky  thought  of  doctors  and 
death;  but  Johnny,  noticing  his  bunkmate's 
restlessness  and  the  careful  grooming  of  his  per- 
son, had  grave  suspicions.  "Good  grub  in  this 
town?"  he  asked,  saddling  to  go  on  his  shift. 

[398] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

Sammy  wiped  a  fleck  of  dust  off  his  boot  and 
looked  up  casually.  "Shore.  Best  is  at  the 
Dutchman's  at  th'  far  end  of  th'  street." 

Johnny  mounted,  nodded  and  departed  for  the 
herd,  where  Red  was  pleasantly  cursing  his  tardi- 
ness. Red  would  eat  Blinky's  grub  and  gladly. 
Johnny  was  cogitating.  "There 's  a  girl  in  this 
town,  an'  he  's  got  three  days'  head  start.  No 
wonder  them  cars  just  got  here!"  Red's  sarcas- 
tic voice  intruded.  "Think  I  eat  grass,  or  my 
stummick  's  made  of  rubber?"  he  snapped. 
"Think  I  feed  onct  a  month  like  a  snake?" 

"No,  Reddie,"  smiled  Johnny,  watching  the 
eyebrows  lift  at  the  name.     "More  like  a  hawg." 

Friday  morning,  a  day  ahead  of  the  agent's 
promise,  the  cars  backed  onto  the  siding  and  by 
noon  the  last  cow  of  the  herd  was  taking  its  first 
—and  last — ^ride.  Sammy  slipped  away  from 
the  outfit  at  the  pens  and  approached  the  restau- 
rant from  the  rear.  He  would  sit  behind  the 
partition  this  time  and  escape  his  friends. 

The  soft  sand  deadened  his  steps  and  when  he 

[399] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

looked  in  at  the  door,  a  cheery  greeting  on  the 
tip  of  his  tongue,  he  stopped  and  stared  unno- 
ticed by  the  sobbing  girl  bent  over  the  table. 
One  hand,  outflung  in  dejected  abandon,  hung 
over  the  side  and  Sanuny's  eyes,  glancing  at 
it,  narrowed  as  he  looked.  His  involuntary, 
throaty  exclamation  sent  the  bowed  head  up  with 
a  jerk,  but  the  look  of  hate  and  fear  quickly  died 
out  of  her  eyes  as  she  recognized  him. 

"An'  all  th'  world  tumbled  down  in  a  heap," 
he  smiled.  "But  it  '11  be  all  right  again,  same  as 
it  alius  was,"  he  assured  her,  "Will  Li'l  Miss 
tell  Sammy  all  about  it  so  he  can  put  it  together 
agam? 

She  looked  at  him  through  tear-dimmed  eyes, 
the  sobs  slowly  drying  to  a  spasmodic  catching 
in  the  rounded  throat.  She  shook  her  head  and 
the  tears  welled  up  again  in  answer  to  his  sympa- 
thy. He  walked  softly  to  the  table  and  placed 
a  hand  on  her  bowed  head.  "Li'l  Miss  will  tell 
Sammy  all  about  it  when  she  dries  her  eyes  an' 
gets  comfy.  Sammy  will  make  things  all  right 
again  an'  laugh  with  her.     Don't  you  mind  him 

[400] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

a  mite — ^jus'  cry  hard,  an'  when  all  th'  tears  are 
used  up,  then  you  tell  Sammy  what  it 's  all 
about."  She  shook  her  head  and  would  not  look 
up.  He  bent  down  carefully  and  examined  the 
bruised  wrist — and  his  eyes  glinted  with  rage ;  but 
he  did  not  speak.  The  minutes  passed  in  silence, 
the  girl  ashamed  to  show  her  reddened  and  tear- 
stained  face;  the  boy  stubbornly  determined  to 
stay  and  learn  the  facts.  He  heard  his  friends 
tramp  past,  wondering  where  he  was,  but  he  did 
not  move. 

Finally  she  brushed  back  her  hair  and  looked 
up  at  him  and  the  misery  in  her  eyes  made  him 
catch  his  breath.     * 'Won't  you  go?"  she  pleaded. 

He  shook  his  head. 

^Tlease!" 

"Not  till  I  finds  out  whose  fingers  made  them 
marks,"  he  replied.  The  look  of  fear  flashed  up 
again,  but  he  checked  it  with  a  smile  he  far  from 
felt,  "Nobody  's  goin'  to  make  you  cry,  an'  get 
away  with  it,"  he  told  her.     "Who  was  it?" 

"I  won't  tell  you.  I  can't  tell  you!  I  don't 
know!" 

[401] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Lil  Miss,  look  me  in  th'  eyes  an'  say  it  again. 
I  thought  so.  You  mustn't  say  things  that 
ain't  true.     Who  did  that?" 

*'What  do  you  want  to  know  for?" 

'^Oh,  jus'  because." 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"Oh,  I  '11  sorta  talk  to  him.  AH  I  want  to 
know  is  his  name." 

"I  won't  tell  you;  you  '11  fight  with  him." 

He  turned  his  sombrero  over  and  looked 
gravely  into  its  crown.  "Well,"  he  admitted, 
"he  might  not  like  me  talkin'  'bout  it.  Of  course, 
you  can't  never  tell." 

"But  he  did  n't  mean  to  hurt  me.  He  's  only 
rough  and  boisterous;  and  he  wasn't  himself," 
she  pleaded,  looking  down. 

"Uh-huh,"  grunted  Sanmiy,  cogitating. 
"So  'm  I.  I  'm  awful  rough  an'  boisterous,  I 
am ;  only  I  don't  hurt  wimmin.  What 's  his 
name?" 

"I '11  not  tell  you!" 

"Well,  all  right;  but  if  he  ever  comes  in  here 
again  an'  gets  rough  an'  boisterous  he  '11  lose  a 

[402] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

hull  lot  of  future.  I  '11  naturally  blow  most  of  his 
head  off,  which  is  frequent  fatal.  What 's  that? 
Oh,  he's  a  bad  man,  is  he?  Uh-huh;  so'm  I. 
Well,  I  'm  goin'  to  run  along  now  an'  see  th'  boss. 
If  you  won't  tell,  you  won't.  I  '11  be  back  soon," 
and  he  sauntered  to  the  street  and  headed  for 
Pete's  saloon,  where  the  agent  had  said  Mr. 
Clarke  was  wont  to  pass  his  fretful  hours. 

As  he  turned  the  corner  he  bumped  into  Hopa- 
long  and  Johnny,  who  grabbed  at  him,  and 
missed.  He  backed  off  and  rested  on  his  toes, 
gingery  and  alert.  *'Keep  yore  dusty  ban's  off'n 
me,"  he  said,  quietly.  **I  'm  goin'  down  to  pala- 
ver with  a  gent  what  I  don't  like." 

Hopalong's  shrewd  glance  looked  him  over. 
*What  did  this  gent  do?"  he  asked,  and  he  would 
not  be  evaded. 

*'0h,  he  insulted  a  nice  li'l  girl,  an'  I  'm  in  a 
hurry." 

"G'way !"  exclauned  Johnny.  "That  straight?" 

"Too  d — n  straight,"  snapped  Sanmiy,  "He 
went  an'  bruised  her  wrists  an'  made  her  cry," 

"Lead  th'  way,  Kid,"  rejoined  Johnny,  read- 

[403], 


THE  COMING  OF  CAS  SIDY 

justing  his  belt.  "Mebby  he  's  got  some  friends," 
he  suggested,  hopefully. 

"Yes,"  smiled  Hopalong,  ''mebby  he  has. 
An'  anyhow,  Sammy;  you  know  yo 're  plumb 
careless  with  that  gun.  You  might  miss  him. 
Lead  th'  way." 

As  they  started  toward  Pete's  Johnny  nudged 
his  bunkmate  in  the  ribs:  "Say;  she  ain't  got  no 
sisters,  has  she?"  he  whispered. 

One  hour  later  Sammy,  his  face  slightly 
scratched,  lounged  into  the  kitchen  and  tossed  his 
sombrero  on  a  chair,  grinning  cheerfully  at  the 
flushed,  saucy  face  that  looked  out  from  under  a 
mass  of  rebellious,  brown  hair.  "Well,  I  saw  th' 
boss,  an'  I  come  back  to  make  everythin'  well 
again,"  he  asserted,  laughing  softly.  "That 
rough  an'  boisterous  Mr.  Clarke  has  sloped.  He 
won't  come  back  no  more." 

"Why,  Sammyr  she  cried,  aghast.  "What 
have  you  done?" 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  I  've  got  you  callin'  me 
Sammy,"  he  chuckled,  trying  to  sneak  a  hand 

[404] 


SAMMY  HUNTS  A  JOB 

over  hers.  "I  told  th'  boss  I  'm  goin'  to  get  a 
job  up  here,  so  I  '11  know  Mr.  Clarke  won't  come 
back.  But  you  know,  he  only  thought  he  was 
bad.  I  shore  had  to  take  his  ol'  gun  away  from 
him  so  he  would  n't  go  an'  shoot  hisself ,  an'  when 
las'  seen  he  was  f eelin'  for  his  cayuse,  intendin'  to 
leave  these  parts.  That 's  what  I  done"  he 
nodded,  brightly.  '"Now  comes  what  I  'm  goin' 
to  do.  Oh,  Li'l  Miss,"  he  whispered,  eagerly. 
"I  'm  jus'  all  mixed  up  an'  millin'.  My  own 
feet  plumb  get  in  my  way.  So  I  jus'  gotta  stick 
aroun'  an'  change  yore  name,  what  you  don't  Uke. 
Uh-huh;  that 's  jus'  what  I  gotta  do,"  he  smiled. 

She  tossed  her  head  and  the  tip-tilt  nose  went 
up  indignantly.  "Indeed  you  '11  do  nothing  of 
the  kind,  Sammy  Porter!"  she  retorted.  "I'll 
choose  my  own  name  when  the  time  comes,  and  it 
will  not  be  Porter!" 

He  arose  slowly  and  looked  around.  Picking 
up  the  pencil  that  lay  on  the  shelf  he  lounged 
over  to  the  partition  and  printed  his  name  three 
times  in  large  letters.  "All  right,  Li'l  Miss," 
he  agreed.     "I  '11  jus'  leave  a  list  where  you  can 

[405] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

see  it  while  you  're  seleetin'.  I  'm  now  goin'  out 
to  get  that  job  we  spoke  about.  You  have  th' 
name  all  picked  out  when  I  get  back,"  he  sug- 
gested, waving  his  hand  at  the  wall.  "An'  did 
anybody  ever  tell  you  it  was  plumb  risky  to  stick 
yore  li'l  nose  up  thataway?" 

"Sammy  Porter!"  she  stormed,  stamping  in 
vexation  near  the  crying  point.  "You  get  right 
out  of  here !    I  '11  never  speak  to  you  again  1" 

"You  won't  get  a  chance  to  talk  much  if  you 
don't  sorta  bring  that  snubby  nose  down  a  li'l 
lower.  I  'm  plumb  weak  at  times."  He  laughed 
joyously  and  edged  to  the  door.  "Don't  forget 
that  list.  I  'm  goin'  after  that  job.  So-long, 
Li'l  Miss." 

"Sammy!" 

"Oh,  all  right;  I'll  go  after  it  later  on,"  he 
laughed,  returning. 


[40(5] 


XV 
WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

JOHNNY  NELSON  hastened  to  the  cor- 
ner of  the  bunkhouse  and  then  changed  his 
pace  until  he  seemed  to  ooze  from  there  to  the 
cook  shack  door,  where  he  lazily  leaned  against 
the  door  jamb  and  ostentatiously  picked  his  teeth 
with  the  negative  end  of  a  match.  The  cook 
looked  up  calmly,  and  calmly  went  on  with  his 
work;  but  if  there  was  anything  rasping  enough 
to  cause  his  calloused  soul  to  quiver  it  was  the 
aforesaid  calisthenics  executed  by  Johnny  and  the 
match ;  for  Cookie's  blunt  nature  hated  hints.  If 
Johnny  had  demanded,  even  profanely  and  with 
large  personal  animus,  why  meals  were  not  ahead 
of  time,  it  would  be  a  simple  matter  to  heave 
something  and  enlarge  upon  his  short  cut  speech. 
But  the  subtleties  left  the  cook  floundering  in  a 
mire  of  rage — which  he  was  very  careful  to  con- 
ceal from  Johnny.     The  youthful  nuisance  had 

[407] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

been  evincing  undue  interest  in  early  suppers  for 
nearly  a  month;  and  judging  from  the  lightness 
of  his  repasts  he  was  entirely  unjustified  in  show- 
ing any  interest  at  all  in  the  evening  meal.  So 
Cookie  strangled  the  biscuit  in  his  hand,  but 
smiled  blandly  at  his  tormentor. 

"Well,  all  through?"  he  pleasantly  inquired, 
glancing  carelessly  at  Johnny's  clothes. 

"I  'm  hopin'  to  begin,"  retorted  Johnny,  and 
the  toothpick  moved  rapidly  up  and  down. 

Cookie  condensed  another  biscuit  and  gulped. 
"That 's  shore  some  stone,"  he  said,  enviously, 
eying  the  two-caret  diamond  in  Johnny's  new, 
blue  tie.  Johnny  never  had  worn  a  tie  before  he 
became  owner  of  the  diamond,  but  with  the  stone 
came  the  keen  realization  of  how  lost  it  was  in  a 
neck-kerchief,  how  often  covered  by  the  wind- 
blown folds ;  so  he  had  hastened  to  Buckskin  and 
spent  a  dollar  that  belonged  to  Red  for  the  tie, 
thus  exhausting  both  the  supply  of  ties  and  Red's 
dollars.  The  honor  of  wearing  the  only  tie  and 
diamond  in  that  section  of  the  cow-country 
brought  responsibilities,  for  he  had  spoken  hastily 

[408] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

to  several  humorous  friends  and  stood  a  good 
chance  of  being  soundly  thrashed  therefor. 

He  threw  away  the  match  and  scratched  his 
back  ecstatically  on  the  door  jamb  while  he 
strained  his  eyes  trying  to  look  under  his  chin. 
Fixed  chins  and  short  ties  are  trials  one  must 
learn  to  accept  philosophically — and  Johnny 
might  have  been  spared  the  effort  were  it  not  for 
the  fact  that  the  tie  had  been  made  for  a  boy, 
and  was  awesomely  shortened  by  encircling  a 
sixteen-inch  neck.  Evidently  it  had  been  made 
for  a  boy  violently  inclined  toward  a  sea-faring 
life,  as  suggested  by  the  anchors  embroidered  in 
white  down  its  middle. 

"Lemme  see  it,"  urged  Cookie,  sighing  be- 
cause its  owner  had  resolutely  refused  to  play 
poker  when  he  had  no  cash.  This  had  become  a 
blighting  sorrow  in  the  life  of  a  naturally  exuber- 
ant and  very  fair  cook. 

"An'  for  how  long?"  demanded  Johnny,  a  cold 
and  calculating  light  glinting  in  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  till  supper 's  ready,"  replied  Cookie  with 
great  carelessness. 

[409] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Nix;  but  you  can  wear  it  twenty  minutes  if 
you  '11  get  my  grub  quick,"  he  replied.  "Got  to 
meet  Lucas  at  half-past  five."  He  cautiously 
dropped  the  match  he  had  thoughtlessly  pro- 
duced. 

The  cook  tried  to  look  his  belief  and  accepted 
the  oflPer.  Johnny's  remarkably  clean  face, 
plastered  hair  and  general  gala  attire  suggested 
that  Lucas  was  a  woman — ^which  Lucas  pro- 
fanely would  have  denied.  Also,  Johnny  had 
been  seen  washing  Ginger,  and  when  a  puncher 
washes  a  cayuse  it 's  a  sign  of  insanity.  Besides, 
Ginger  belonged  to  Red,  who  also  had  owned 
that  lone  dollar.  Red's  clothes  did  not  fit 
Johnny. 

"Goin'  to  surprise  Lucas?"  inquired  the  cook. 

"What  you  mean?" 

Cookie  glanced  meaningly  at  the  attire: 
"Er — ^you  ain't  in  th'  habit  of  puttin'  on  war 
paint  for  to  see  Lucas,  are  you?" 

Johnny's  mental  faculties  produced:  "Oh, 
we  're  goin'  to  a  dance." 

"Where  'bouts?"  exploded  the  cook. 

[410] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

''Way  up  north!"  One's  mind  needs  to  be 
active  as  a  flea  to  lie  properly  to  a  man  like  the 
cook.    He  had  made  a  ghastly;  mistake. 

"By  golly  1  I  '11  give  th'  boys  cold  grub  an' 
go  with  you,"  and  the  cook  began  to  save  time. 

Johnny  gulped  and  shook  his  head:  "Got  a 
invite?" 

Cookie  caught  the  pan  on  his  foot  before  it 
struck  the  floor  and  gasped:  "Invite?  Ain't 
it  free-fer-all?" 

"No;  this  is  a  high-toned  thing-a-bob.  Costs 
a  dollar  a  head,  too." 

"High-toned?"  snorted  the  cook,  derisively. 
"Don't  they  know  you?  An'  I  thought  Red  was 
broke.     Show  me  that  permit !" 

"Lucas  's  got  it — ^that  's  why  I  've  got  to  catch 
him." 

"Oh!    An'  is  he  goin'  all  feathered  up,  too?" 

"Shore,  he  's  got  to." 

"Huh!  He  wouldn't  dress  like  that  to  see  a 
fight.  Has  she  got  any  sisters?"  Cookie  finished, 
hopefully. 

"Now  what  you  talkin' about?" 

[411] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

"Why,  Lucas,"  answered  the  cook,  placidly. 
"Lemme  tell  you  something.  When  you  want  to 
lose  me  have  a  invite  to  a  water-drinkin'  contest. 
An'  before  you  go,  be  shore  to  rub  Hoppy's  boots 
some  more;  that 's  such  a  pasty  shine  it  '11  look 
like  sand-paper  before  you  get  to  th' — dance. 
You  want  to  make  it  hard  an'  slippery.  An'  I  've 
read  som'ers  that  only  wimmin  ought  to  smell 
like  a  drug-store.  You  better  let  her  do  th'  f  umi- 
gatin'." 

Johnny  surrendered  and  dolefully  whiffed  the 
crushed  violets  he  had  paid  two  bits  a  pint  for  at 
El  Paso— it  was  not  necessary  to  whiff  them,  but 
he  did  so. 

"You  ought  to  hone  yore  razor,  too,"  continued 
the  cook,  critically. 

"I  told  Buck  it  was  dull,  I  ain't  goin'  to 
sharpen  it  for  him.  But,  say,  are  you  shore 
about  th'  perfumery?" 

"Why,  of  course." 

"But  how  '11 1  git  it  off?" 

"Bury  th'  clothes,"  suggested  Cookie,  grin- 
ning. 

[412] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

"I  like  yore  gall!  Which  clothes  are  best, 
Pete's  or  Billy's?" 

*Tete's  would  fit  you  like  th'  wide,  wide  world. 
You  don't  want  blankets  on  when  you  go 
courtin'.  Try  Billy's.  An'  I  got  a  pair  of 
socks,  though  one  's  green — but  th'  boots  '11  hide 
it." 

"I  did  n't  put  none  on  my  socks,  you  chump!" 

"How'd  I  know?  But,  say!  Has  she  got 
any  sisters?" 

"No!"  yelled  Johnny,  halfway  through  the 
gallery  in  search  of  Billy's  clothes.  When  he 
emerged  Cookie  looked  him  over.  "Ain't  it 
funny.  Kid,  how  a  pipe  '11  stink  up  clothes?"  he 
smiled.  Johnny's  retort  was  made  over  several 
yards  of  ground  and  when  he  had  mounted 
Cookie  yelled  and  waved  him  to  return.  When 
Johnny  had  obeyed  and  impatiently  demanded 
the  reason,  Cookie  pleasantly  remarked:  "Now, 
be  shore  an'  give  her  my  love,  Kid." 

Johnny's  reply  covered  half  a  mile  of  trail. 

Johnny;  rode  alertly  through  Perry's  Bend, 

[41S] 


THE  COMING  OF  CAS  SIDY 

for  SherljQF  Nolan  was  no  friend  of  his ;  and  Nolan 
was  not  only  a  discarded  suitor  of  Miss  Joyce, 
but  a  warm  personal  friend  of  George  Greener, 
the  one  rival  Johnny  feared.  Greener  was  a 
widower  as  wealthy  as  he  was  unscrupulous,  and 
a  power  on  that  range:  when  he  said  "jump," 
Nolan  soared 

The  sheriff  was  standing  before  the  Palace 
saloon  when  Johnny  rode  past,  and  he  could 
not  keep  quiet.  His  comment  was  so  judiciously 
chosen  as  to  bring  white  spots  on  Johnny's  flushed 
cheeks.  The  Bar-20  puncher  was  not  famed 
for  his  self-control,  and,  wheeling  in  the  saddle, 
he  pointed  a  quivering  forefinger  at  Mr.  Nolan's 
badge  of  office,  so  conspicuously  displayed: 
"Better  men  than  you  have  hid  behind  a  badge 
and  banked  on  a  man's  regard  for  th'  law  savin' 
'em  from  their  just  deserts.  Politics  is  a  h — ^1 
of  a  thing  when  it  opens  th'  door  to  anything 
that  might  roll  in  on  th'  wind.  You  come  down 
across  th'  line  tomorrow  an'  see  me,  without  th' 
nickel-plated  ornament  you  disgraces,"  he  in- 

[414] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

vited.  "Any  dog  can  tell  a  lie  in  his  kennel,  but 
it  takes  guts  to  bark  outside  th'  yard." 

Mr.  Nolan  flushed,  went  white,  hesitated,  and 
walked  away.  To  fight  in  defense  of  the  law  was 
his  duty;  but  no  sane  man  warred  on  the  Bar-20 
unless  he  must.  Mr.  Nolan  was  a  man  whose 
ideas  of  necessity  followed  strange  curves,  and 
not  to  his  credit.  One  might  censure  Mr.  Cassidy 
or  Mr.  Connors,  or  pick  a  fight  with  some  of  the 
others  of  that  outfit  and  not  get  killed;  but  he 
must  not  harm  their  protege.  Mr.  Nolan  not 
only  walked  away  but  he  sought  the  darkest 
shadows  and  held  conversation  with  himself.  If 
it  were  only  possible  to  get  the  pugnacious  and 
very  much  spoiled  Mr.  Nelson  to  fracture,  smash, 
pulverize  some  law!  This,  indeed,  would  be 
sweet. 

Meanwhile  Johnny,  having  watched  the  sheriff 
slip  away,  loosed  a  few  more  words  into  the  air 
and  went  on  his  way,  whistling  cheerfully. 
Reaching  the  Joyce  cottage  he  was  admitted  by 
Miss  Joyce  herself  and  at  sight  of  her  blushing 

[415] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

face  his  exuberant  confidence  melted  and  left  him 
timid.  This  he  was  wont  to  rout  by  big  words 
and  a  dashing  air  he  did  not  feel. 

**0h!  Come  right  in,"  she  invited.  "But  you 
are  late,"  she  laughed,  chidingly. 

He  critically  regarded  the  dimples,  while  he 
replied  that  he  had  drawn  rein  to  slay  the  sheriff 
but,  knowing  that  it  would  cost  him  more  val- 
uable time,  he  had  consented  with  himself  to  post- 
pone the  event. 

"But  you  must  not  do  that!"  she  cried. 
"Why,  that's  terrible!  You  shouldn't  even 
think  of  such  things." 

"Well,  of  course — if  yo  're  agin'  it  I  wont." 

"But  what  did  he  do?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  reckon  I  can  tell  that.  But  do 
you  really  want  him  to  live?" 

"Why,  certainly!     What  a  foolish  question." 

"But  why  do  you?    Do  you — like  him?" 

"I  like  everybody." 

"Yes;  an'  everybody  likes  you,  too,"  he 
growled,  the  smile  fading.  "That 's  th'  trouble. 
Do  you  like  him  very  much?" 

[416] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  ask  such  foolish  ques- 
tions." 

^'Yes ;  I  know.     But  do  you?" 

"I  prefer  not  to  answer.'* 

"Huh!  That's  an  answer  in  itself.  You 
do." 

"I  don't  think  you  're  very  nice  tonight,"  she 
retorted,  a  little  pout  spoiling  the  bow  in  her 
lips.  "You  're  awfully  jealous,  and  I  don't  like 
it." 

"Gee!  Don't  like  it!  I  should  think  you'd 
want  me  to  be  jealous.  I  only  wish  you  was 
jealous  of  me,  Norah,  I  've  just  got  to  say  it 
now,  an'  find  out — " 

''Yes;  tell  me,"  she  interrupted  eagerly. 
"WhattZidhedo?" 

'Who?" 

"Mr.  Nolan,  of  course." 

"Nolan?"  he  demanded  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  yes;  tell  me." 

"I  ain't  talkin'  about  him,  I  was  goin'  to 
tell  you  something  that  I  've — " 

"That  you  've  done  and  now  regret?    Have 

[4171 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

you  ever — ever  killed  a  man?"  she  breathed. 
"Have  you?" 

**No;  yes!  Lots  of  'em,"  he  confessed,  remem- 
bering that  once  she  had  expressed  admiration 
for  brave  and  daring  men.  "Most  half  as  many 
as  Hopalong;  an'  I  ain't  near  as  old  as  him, 
neither." 

"You  mean  Mr.  Cassidy?  Why  don't  you 
bring  him  with  you  some  evening?  I  'd  like  to 
meet  him." 

"Not  me.  I  went  an'  brought  a  friend  along 
once,  an'  had  to  lick  him  th'  next  day  to  keep 
him  away  from  here.  He  'd  'a'  camped  right 
out  there  in  front  if  I  had  n't.  No,  ma'am ;  not 
any." 

"Why,  the  idea!  But  Mr.  Greener's  very 
much  like  your  friend,  Mr,  Cassidy.  He  's  very 
brave,  and  a  wonderful  shot.  He  told  me  so 
himself." 

"What !  He  told  you  so  hisself !  Well,  well. 
Beggin'  yore  pardon,  he  ain't  nowise  like  Hoppy, 
not  even  in  th'  topics  of  his  conversation.  Why, 
he  's  a  child;  an'  blinks  when  he  shoots  off  a  gun. 

[418] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

Here — can  he  show  a  gun  like  mine?"  and  forth- 
with he  held  out  his  Colt,  butt  foremost,  and  in- 
dicated the  notches  he  had  cut  that  afternoon.  A 
fleeting  doubt  went  through  his  mind  at  what  his 
outfit  would  say  when  it  saw  those  notches. 
The  Bar-20  cut  no  notches.  It  wanted  to  for- 
get. 

She  looked  at  them  curiously  and  suddenly 
drew  back.  "Oh I  Are  they — are  they?"  she 
whispered. 

He  nodded:  "They  are.  There  is  plenty  of 
room  for  Nolan's,  an'  mebby  his  owner,  too,"  he 
suggested.  "Can't  you  see,  Norah?"  he  asked 
in  a  swift  change  of  tone.  "Can't  you  see? 
Don't  you  know  how  much  I — " 

"Yes.  It  must  be  terrible  to  have  such  re- 
morse," she  quickly  interposed.  "And  I  sym- 
pathize with  you  deeply,  too." 

"Remorse  nothin'!  Them  fellers  was  lookin' 
for  it,  an'  they  got  just  what  they  deserved.  If 
I  had  n't  'a'  done  it  somebody  else  would." 

"And  you  a  murderer!  I  never  thought  that 
of  you,     I  can  hardly  believe  it  of  you.     And 

[419] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

you  calmly  confess  it  to  me  as  though  it  were 
nothing!" 

"Why,  I— I—" 

"Don't  talk  to  me !  To  think  you  have  human 
blood  on  your  hands.     To  think — " 

"Norahl     Norah,  listen;  won't  you?" 

" — that  you  are  that  sort  of  a  man !  How  dare 
you  call  here  as  you  have?     How  dare  you?" 

"But  I  tell  you  they  were  tryin'  to  get  me!  I 
just  had  to.  Why,  I  didn't  do  it  for  nothin'. 
I  've  got  a  right  to  defend  myself,  ain't  I?" 

"You  had  to?     Is  that  true?"  she  demanded. 

"Why,  shore!  Think  I  go  'round  killin'  men, 
like  Greener  does,  just  for  th'  fun  of  it?" 

"He  doesn't  do  anything  of  the  kind,"  she 
retorted.  "You  know  he  does  n't!  Did  n't  you 
just  say  he  blinks  when  he  shoots  off  a  gun?" 

"Yes;  I  did.  But  I  didn't  want  you  to 
think  he  was  a  murderer  like  Nolan,"  he  ex- 
plained. Even  Cookie,  he  thought,  would  find 
it  hard  to  get  around  that  neat  little  effort. 

"I  'm  so  relieved,"  she  laughed,  delighted  at 
her  success  in  twisting  him.     "I  am  so  glad  he 

[420] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

does  n't  blink  when  he  shoots.  I  'd  hate  a  man 
who  was  afraid  to  shoot." 

Johnny's  chest  arose  a  little.  "Well,  how 
'bout  me?" 

"But  you've  killed  men;  you've  shot  down 
your  fellow  men;  and  have  ghastly;  marks  on 
your  revolver  to  brag  about." 

"Well — say — but  how  can  I  shoot  without 
shootin'  or  kill  without  killin'?"  he  demanded. 
"An'  I  don't  brag  about  'em,  neither;  it  makes 
me  feel  too  sad  to  do  any  braggin'.  An' 
Greener's  killed  'em,  too;  an'  he  brags  about  it." 

"Yes;  but  he  doesn't  blink!"  she  exclaimed 
triumphantly. 

"Neither  do  ir 

"Yes;  but  you  shoot  to  kill." 

"Lord  pity  us — don't  he?'' 

"Y-e-s,  but  that 's  different,"  she  replied,  smil- 
ing brightly. 

Johnny  looked  around  the  room,  his  eyes 
finally  resting  on  his  hat. 

"Yes,  I  see  it 's  different.  Greener  can  kill, 
an'  blink!    I  can't.     If  he  kills  a  man  he's  a 

[421] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

hero;  I  'm  a  murderer.  I  kinda  reckon  he  's  got 
th'  trail.  But  I  love  you,  an'  you  've  got  to  pick 
my  trail — does  it  lead  up  or  down?" 

"Johnny  Nelson  I  What  are  you  saying?"  she 
demanded,  arising. 

"Something  turrible,  mebby.  I  don't  know; 
an'  I  don't  care.  It 's  true — so  there  you  are. 
Norah,  can't  you  see  I  do?"  he  pleaded,  holding 
out  his  hands.     "Won't  you  marry  me?" 

She  looked  down,  her  cheeks  the  color  of  fire, 
and  Johnny  continued  hurriedly :  "I  've  loved 
you  a  whole  month  1  When  I  'm  ridin'  around  I 
sorta'  see  you,  an'  hear  you.  Why,  I  talk  to 
you  lots  when  I  'm  alone.  I  've  saved  up  some 
money,  an'  I  had  to  work  hard  to  save  it,  too. 
I  've  got  some  cows  runnin'  with  our'n — in  a  little 
while  I  '11  have  a  ranch  of  my  own.  Buck  '11  let 
me  use  th'  east  part  of  th'  ranch,  an'  there  's  a 
hill  over  there  that  'd  look  fine  with  a  house  on 
it.  I  can't  wait  no  longer,  Norah,  I  've  got  to 
know.  Will  you  let  me  put  this  on  yore  finger?" 
He  swiftly  bent  the  pin  into  a  ring  and  held  it 
out  eagerly :     "Can  I  ?" 

[422] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

She  pushed  him  away  and  yielded  to  a  sudden 
pricking  of  her  conscience,  speaking  swiftly,  as 
if  forcing  herself  to  do  a  disagreeable  duty,  and 
hating  herself  at  the  moment.  "Johnny,  I  Ve 
been  a — a  flirt!  When  I  saw  you  were  begin- 
ning to  care  too  much  for  me  I  should  have 
stopped  it ;  but  I  did  n't.  I  amused  myself — ^but 
I  want  you  to  believe  one  thing,  to  give  me  a 
little  credit  for  just  one  thing;  I  never  thought 
what  it  might  mean  to  you.  It  was  carelessness 
with  me.  But  I  was  flirting,  just  the  same — and 
it  hurts  to  admit  it.  I  'm  not  good  enough  for 
you,  Johnny  Nelson ;  it 's  hard  to  say,  but  it 's 
true.     Can  you,  will  you  forgive  me?" 

He  choked  and  stepped  forward  holding  out 
his  hands  imploringly,  but  she  eluded  him. 
When  he  saw  the  shame  in  her  face,  the  tears  in 
her  eyes,  he  stopped  and  laughed  gently:  "But 
we  can  begin  right,  now,  can't  we  ?  I  don't  care, 
not  if  you  '11  let  me  see  you  same  as  ever.  You 
might  get  to  care  for  me.  And,  anyhow,  it  ain't 
yore  fault.     I  reckon  it 's  me  that 's  to  blame." 

At  that  moment  he  was  nearer  to  victory  than 

[423] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

he  had  ever  been;  but  he  did  not  realize  it  and 
opportunity  died  when  he  failed  to  press  his  ad- 
vantage. 

"I  am  to  blame,"  she  said,  so  low  he  could 
hardly  catch  the  words.  When  she  continued  it 
was  with  a  rush:  "I  am  not  free — I  haven't 
been  for  a  week.  I  'm  not  free  any  more — and 
I  've  been  leading  you  on!" 

His  face  hardened,  for  now  the  meaning  of 
Greener's  sneering  laugh  came  to  him,  and  a 
seething  rage  swept  over  him  against  the  man 
who  had  won.  He  knew  Greener,  knew  him 
well — the  meanness  of  the  man's  nature,  his  cold 
cruelty;  the  many  things  to  the  man's  discredit 
loomed  up  large  against  the  frailty  of  the  woman 
before  him. 

Norah  stepped  forward  and  laid  a  pleading 
hand  on  his  arm,  for  she  knew  the  mettle  of  the 
men  who  worked  under  Buck  Peters:  "What 
are  you  thinking?     Tell  me!" 

"Why,  I  'm  thinking  what  Nolan  said.  An', 
Norah,  listen.  You  say  you  want  me  to  forgive 
you?    Well,  I  do,  if  there's  anything  to  forgive. 

[424] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

But  I  want  you  to  primise  me  that  if  Greener 
don't  treat  you  right  you  '11  tell  me." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

*'Only  what  I  said.     Do  you  promise?" 

'Terhaps  you  would  better  speak  to  him  about 
it!"  she  retorted. 

"I  will — an'  plain.  But  don't  worry  'bout  me. 
It  was  my  fault  for  bein'  a  tenderfoot.  I  never 
played  this  game  before,  an'  don't  know  th'  cards. 
Good-by." 

He  rode  away  slowly,  and  made  the  rounds, 
and  by  the  time  he  reached  Lacey's  he  was  so  un- 
steady that  he  was  refused  a  drink  and  told  to  go 
home.  But  he  headed  for  the  Palace  instead, 
and  when  he  stepped  high  over  the  doorsill 
Nolan  was  seated  in  a  chair  tipped  back  against 
one  of  the  side  walls,  and  behind  the  bar  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room  Jed  Terry  drummed  on  the 
counter  and  expressed  his  views  on  local  matters. 
The  sheriff  was  listening  in  a  bored  way  until 
he  saw  Johnny  enter  and  head  his  way,  feet  high 
and  chest  out;  and  at  that  moment  Nolan's  in- 
terest in  local  affairs  flashed  up  brightly. 

[425] 


THE  COMIlSrG  OF  CAS  SIDY 

Johnny  lost  no  time:  "Nolan,"  he  said,  rock- 
ing on  his  heels,  "tell  Greener  I  '11  kill  him  if  he 
marries  that  girl.  He  killed  his  first  wife  by 
abuse  an'  he  don't  kill  no  more.     Savvy?" 

The  sheriff  warily  arose,  for  here  was  the  op- 
portunity he  had  sought.  The  threat  to  kill  had 
a  witness. 

"An'  if  you  opens  yore  toad's  mouth  about  her 
like  you  did  tonight,  I  '11  kill  you,  too."  The 
tones  were  dispassionate,  the  words  deliberate. 

"Hear  that,  Jed?"  cried  the  sheriff,  excitedly. 
"Nelson,  yo  're  under  ar — " 

"Shut  upl"  snapped  Johnny  loudly,  this  time 
with  feeling.  "When  yo  're  betters  are  talkin' 
you  keep  yore  face  closed.  Now,  it  ain't  hardly 
healthy  to  slander  wimmin  in  this  country, 
'specially  good  wimmin.  You  lied  like  a  dog  to 
me  tonight,  an'  I  let  you  off ;  don't  try  it  again." 

"I  told  th'  truth!"  snapped  Nolan,  heatedly. 
"I  said  she  was  a  flirt,  an'  by  th'  great  horned 
spoon  she  is  a  flirt,  an'  you — " 

The  sheriff  prided  himself  upon  his  quickness, 
but  the  leaping  gun  was  kicked  out  of  his  hand 

[426] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

before  he  knew  what  was  coming;  a  chair  glanced 
off  Jed's  face  and  wrapped  the  front  window 
about  itself  in  its  passing,  leaving  the  bar-tender 
in  the  throbbing  darkness  of  inter-planetary 
space;  and  as  the  sheriff  opened  his  eyes  and  re- 
covered from  the  hard  swings  his  face  had 
stopped,  a  galloping  horse  drummed  southward 
toward  the  Bar-20;  and  the  silence  of  the  night 
was  shattered  by  lusty  war-whoops  and  a  spur- 
ting .45. 

When  the  sheriff  and  his  posse  called  at  the 
Bar-20  before  breakfast  the  following  morning 
they  found  a  grouchy  outfit  and  learned  some 
facts. 

"Where  's  Johnny?"  repeated  Hopalong,  with 
a  rising  inflection.     "Only  wish  I  knowed!" 

A  murmur  of  wistful  desire  arose  and  Lanky 
Smith  restlessly  explained  it :  "He  rampages  in 
'bout  midnight  an'  wakes  us  up  with  his  racket. 
When  we  asks  what  he  's  doin'  with  our  posses- 
sions he  suggests  we  go  to  h — ^1.  He  takes  Ms 
rifle,   Pete's   rifle,  Buck's  brand  new  canteen, 

[427] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

'bout  eighty  pounds  of  catridges  an'  other  use- 
ful duffle,  all  th'  tobacco,  an'  blows  away  quick." 

"On  my  cayuse,"  murmured  Red. 

"Wearin'  my  good  clothes,"  added  Billy,  sor- 
rowfully, 

"An'  my  boots,"  sighed  Hopalong. 

"I  ain't  got  no  field  glasses  no  more,"  grumbled 
Lanky. 

"But  he  only  got  one  laig  of  my  new  pants," 
chuckled  Skinny.     "I  was  too  strong  for  him." 

"He  yanked  my  blanket  off'n  me,  which  makes 
me  steal  Red's,"  grinned  Pete. 

"Which  you  didn't  keep  very  long!"  retorted 
Red,  with  derision. 

"Which  makes  us  all  peevish,"  plaintively  mut- 
tered Buck. 

"Now  ain't  it  a  h — ^1  of  a  note?"  laughed 
Cookie,  loudly,  forthwith  getting  scarce.  He 
had  nothing  good  enough  to  be  taken. 

"An'  whichever  was  it  run  ag'in'  yore  face. 
Sheriff?"  sympathetically  inquired  Hopalong. 
"Mighty  good  thing  it  stopped,"  he  added 
thoughtfully. 

[428] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

"Never  mind  my  face!"  snorted  the  peace 
officer  hotly  as  his  deputies  smoothed  out  their 
grins.  '*I  want  to  know  where  Nelson  is,  an' 
d — d  quick!     We  '11  search  the  house  &st." 

"Hold  on,"  responded  Buck.  '^North  of  Salt 
Spring  Creek  yo  're  a  sheriff ;  down  here  yo  're 
nothin'.    Don't  search  no  house.    He  ain't  here." 

"How  do  I  know  he  ain't?"  snapped  Nolan. 

"My  word  's  good ;  or  there  '11  be  another  elec- 
tion stolen  up  in  yore  county,"  rejoined  Buck 
ominously.  "An'  I  would  n't  hunt  him  too  hard, 
neither.     We  '11  punish  him." 

Nolan  wheeled  and  rode  toward  the  hills  with- 
out another  word,  his  posse  pressing  close  behind. 
When  they  entered  Apache  Pass  one  of  them  ac- 
cidentally exploded  his  rifle,  calling  forth  an  an- 
gry tirade  from  the  sheriff.  Johnny  heard  it,  and 
cared  little  for  the  warning  from  his  friend  Lu- 
cas ;  he  waited  and  then  rode  down  the  rocky  slope 
of  the  pass  on  the  trail  of  the  posse,  squinting 
wickedly  at  the  distant  group  as  he  caught 
glimpses  of  them  now  and  again,  and  with  no 
anxiety    regarding   backward    glances.     "Lot's 

[429] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

wife  '11  have  nothing  on  them  if  they  look  back/' 
he  muttered,  fingering  his  rifle  lovingly.  At 
nightfall  he  watched  them  depart  and  grinned  at 
the  chase  he  would  lead  them  when  they  returned. 
But  he  did  not  see  them  again,  although  his 
friends  reported  that  they  were  turning  the  range 
upside  down  to  find  him.  One  of  his  outfit  rode 
out  to  him  with  supplies  and  information  every 
few  days  and  it  was  Pete  who  told  him  that  six 
posses  were  in  the  hills.  "An'  you  can't  leave, 
'cause  one  of  th'  cordon  would  get  you  shore.  I 
had  a  h — ^1  of  a  time  getting  in  today."  Red 
reported  that  the  sheriff  had  sworn  to  take  him 
dead  or  alive.  Then  came  the  blow.  The 
sheriff  was  at  the  point  of  death  from  lockjaw 
caused  by  complete  paralysis  of  the  curea-frend 
nerve  just  above  the  phlagmatic  diaphragm, 
which  Johnny  had  fractured.  It  was  Hopalong 
who  imparted  this  sad  news,  and  withered 
Johnny's  hope  of  returning  to  a  comfortable 
bunkhouse  and  square  meals.  So  the  fugitive 
clung  to  the  hills,  shunned  sky-lines  and  won- 
dered if  the  sheriff  would  recover  before  snow 

[430] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

flew.  He  was  hungry  most  of  the  time  now  be- 
cause the  outfit  was  getting  stingy  with  the  food 
supplies — and  he  dared  not  shoot  any  game. 

Four  weeks  passed,  weeks  of  hunger  and  nerv- 
ous strain,  and  he  was  getting  desperate.  He 
had  learned  that  Greener  and  his  fiancee  were 
going  down  to  Linnville  soon,  since  Perry's  Bend 
had  no  parson;  and  his  cup  of  bitterness,  over- 
flowing, drove  him  to  risk  an  attempt  to  leave 
that  part  of  the  country.  He  had  seen  none  of 
Pete's  "cordon"  although  he  had  looked  for  them, 
and  he  believed  he  could  get  away.  So  he  rode 
cautiously  down  Apache  Pass  one  noon,  thought- 
fully planning  his  flight.  The  sand,  washed 
down  the  rock  walls  by  the  last  rain,  deadened  all 
sounds  of  his  progress,  and  as  he  turned  a  sharp 
bend  in  the  cut  he  almost  bumped  into  Greener 
and  Norah  Joyce.  They  were  laughing  at  how 
they  had  eluded  the  crowd  of  friends  who  were 
eager  to  accompany  them — ^but  the  laughter  froze 
when  Johnny's  gun  swung  up. 

" 'Nds  up.  Greener  1"  he  snapped,  viciously, 
remembering    his    promise    to    Sheriff    Nolan. 

[431] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

'*Miss  Joyce,  if  you  make  any  trouble  it  '11  cost 
him  his  life." 

"Turned  highwayman,  eh?"  sneered  Greener, 
keenly  alert  for  the  necessary  fraction  of  a  sec- 
ond's carelessness  on  the  part  of  the  other.  He 
was  gunman  enough  to  need  no  more. 

"Miss  Joyce,  will  you  please  ride  along?  I 
want  to  talk  to  him  alone,"  said  Johnny,  his  eyes 
fastened  intently  on  those  of  his  enemy. 

"Yes,  Norah;  that 's  best.  I  '11  join  you  in  a 
few  minutes,"  urged  Greener,  smihng  at  her. 

Johnny  had  a  sudden  thought  and  his  warning 
was  grave  and  cold.  * 'Don't  get  very  far  away 
an'  don't  make  no  sounds,  or  signals;  if  you  do 
it  '11  be  th'  quickest  way  to  need  'em.  He  '11  pay 
for  any  mistakes  like  that." 

"You  coward!"  she  cried,  angrily,  and  then  de- 
livered an  impromptu  lecture  that  sent  the  blood 
surging  into  the  fugitive's  wan  cheeks.  But  she 
obeyed,  slowly,  at  Greener's  signal,  and  when  she 
was  out  of  sight  Johnny  spoke. 

"Greener,  yo  're  not  going  to  marry  her.  You 
know  what  you  are,  you  know  how  yore  first  wife 

[432] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

3ied — an'  I  don't  intend  that  Norah  shall  be 
abused  as  the  other  was.  I  'm  a  fugitive,  hard 
pressed ;  I  'm  weak  from  want  of  food,  and  from 
hardships;  all  I  have  left  is  a  slim  chance  of 
gettin'  away.  I  've  reached  the  point  where  I 
can't  harm  myself  by  shooting  you,  an'  I  'm  goin' 
to  do  it  rather  than  let  any  trouble  come  to  her. 
But  you  '11  get  an  even  break,  because  I  ain't 
never  going  to  shoot  a  man  when  he  's  helpless. 
Got  anything  to  say?" 

"Yes;  yo  're  th'  biggest  fool  I  ever  saw,"  re- 
plied Greener.  "Yo're  locoed  through  an' 
through ;  an'  I  'm  goin'  to  take  great  pleasure  in 
putting  you  away.  But  I  want  to  thank  you  for 
one  thing  you  did.  You  were  drunk  at  the  time 
an'  may  not  remember  it.  When  you  hit  Nolan 
for  talking  like  he  did  I  liked  you  for  it,  an'  I  'm 
goin'  to  tell  you  so.  Now  we  '11  get  at  th'  matter 
before  us  so  I  can  move  along." 

Neither  had  paid  any  attention  to  Norah  in 
the  earnestness  and  keen-eyed  scrutiny  of  each 
other  and  the  first  sign  they  had  of  her  actions 
was  when  she  threw  her  arms  around  Greener's 

[4SS]. 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

neck  and  shielded  him.  He  was  too  much  of  a 
man  to  fire  from  cover  and  Johnny  realized  it 
while  the  other  tried  to  get  her  to  leave  the  scene. 

"I  won't  leave  you  to  be  murdered — I  know 
what  it  means,  I  know  it,"  she  cried.  "My  place 
is  here,  and  you  can't  deny  your  wife's  first  re- 
quest I  What  will  I  do  without  you !  Oh,  dear, 
let  me  stay!  I  will  stay!  What  woman  ever 
had  such  a  wedding  day  before!  Dear,  dear, 
what  can  I  do?     Tell  me  what  to  do!" 

Johnny  sniffled  and  wished  the  posse  had  taken 
him.  This  was  a  side  he  had  never  thought  of. 
His  wife!  Greener's  wife!  Then  he  was  too 
late,  and  to  go  on  would  be  a  greater  evil  than 
the  one  he  wished  to  eliminate.  When  she 
turned  on  him  like  a  tigress  and  tore  him  to  pieces 
word  by  word,  tears  rolling  down  her  pallid 
cheeks  and  untold  misery  in  her  eyes,  he  shook 
his  head  and  held  up  his  hand. 

"Greener,  you  win;  I  can't  stop  what's  hap- 
pened," he  said,  slowly.  "But  I  '11  tell  you  this, 
an'  I  mean  every  word:  If  you  don't  treat  her 
like  she  deserves,  I  '11  come  back  some  of  these 

[434] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

days  and  kill  you  shore,  Nolan  got  his  because 
he  talked  ill  of  her ;  an'  you  '11  get  yours  if  I  die 
the  next  minute,  if  you  ain't  square  with  her." 

"I  don't  need  no  instructions  on  how  to  treat 
my  wife,"  retorted  the  other.  "An'  I  'm  be- 
ginnin'  to  see  th'  cause  of  yore  insanity,  and  it 
pardons  you  as  nothing  else  will.  Put  up  yore 
gun  an'  get  back  to  th'  ranch,  where  you  belong 
— an'  keep  away  from  me.     Savvy?" 

"Not  much  danger  of  me  gettin'  in  yore  way," 
growled  Johnny,  "when  I  'm  hunted  like  a  dog 
for  doing  what  any  man  would  'a'  done.  When 
th'  sheriff  gets  well,  if  he  ever  does,  mebby  I  'U 
come  back  an'  take  my  medicine.  How  was  he, 
anyhow,  when  you  left?" 

"Dead  tired,  an'  some  under  th'  influence  of 
liquor,"  replied  Greener,  a  smile  breaking  over 
his  frown.  He  knew  the  whole  story  well,  as 
did  the  whole  range,  and  he  bad  laughed  over  it 
with  the  Bar-20  outfit. 

"What's  that?  Ain't  he  near  dead?"  cried 
Johnny,  amazed. 

"Well,  purty  nigh  dead  of  fatigue  dancin'  at 

[435] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

our  weddin'  last  night ;  but  I  reckon  he  11  be 
driftin'  home  purty  soon,  an*  all  recovered.*' 
Greener  suddenly  gave  way  and  roared  with 
laughter.  There  was  a  large  amount  of  humor 
in  his  make-up  and  it  took  possession  of  him, 
shaking  him  from  head  to  foot.  He  had  always 
liked  Johnny,  not  because  he  ever  wanted  to  but 
because  no  one  could  know  the  Bar-20  protege 
and  keep  from  it.  This  climax  was  too  much  for 
him,  and  his  wife,  gradually  recovering  herself, 
caught  the  infection  and  joined  in. 

Johnny's  eyes  were  staring  and  his  mouth  wide 
open,  but  Greener's  next  words  closed  the  eyes 
to  a  squint  and  snapped  shut  the  open  mouth. 

''That  there  paralysis  of  th'  cure-a-friend  nerve 
did  n't  last ;  an'  when  I  heard  why  you  licked  him 
I  said  a  few  words  that  made  him  a  wiser  man. 
He  did  n't  hunt  you  after  th'  first  day. 
Now  you  go  up  an'  shake  ban's  with  him.  He 
knows  he  got  what  was  coming  to  him  and  so 
does  everybody  else  know  it.  Go  home  an'  quit 
playin'  th'  fool  for  th'  whole  blamed  range  to 
laugh  at." 

[426] 


WHEN  JOHNNY  SLOPED 

Johnny  stirred  and  came  back  to  the  scene  be- 
fore him.  His  face  was  livid  with  rage  and  he 
could  not  speak  at  first.  Finally,  however,  he 
mastered  himself  and  looked  up:  "I  'm  cured, 
all  right,  but  they  ain't!  Wait  till  my  turn 
comes!  What  a  fool  I  was  to  believe  'em;  but 
they  usually  tell  th'  truth.  'Cura-a-f riend  nerve' ! 
They  '11  pay  me  dollar  for  cent  before  I  'm  fin- 
ished!" He  caught  the  sparkle  of  his  diamond 
pin,  the  pin  he  had  won,  when  drunk,  at  El  Paso, 
and  a  sickly  grin  flickered  over  the  black  frown. 
*'I  'm  a  little  late,  I  reckon ;  but  I  'd  like  to  give 
th'  bride  a  present  to  show  there  ain't  no  hard 
feelin's  on  my  part,  an'  to  bring  her  luck.  This 
here  pin  ain't  no  fit  ornament  for  a  fool  like  me, 
so  if  it 's  all  right,  I  '11  be  plumb  tickled  to  see 
her  have  it.     How  'bout  it.  Greener?" 

The  happy  pair  exchanged  glances  and  Mrs. 
Greener,  hesitating  and  blushing,  accepted  the 
gift :  '* You  can  bend  it  into  a  ring  easy,"  Johnny 
hastily  remarked,  to  cut  off  her  thanks. 

Greener  extended  his  hand:  "I  reckon  we 
can  be  friends,  at  that^  Nelson.    You  squared  up 

[437] 


THE  COMING  OF  CASSIDY 

with  me  when  you  licked  Nolan.     Come  up  an' 
see  us  when  you  can." 

Johnny  thanked  him  and  shook  hands  and  then 
watched  them  ride  slowly  down  the  canyon,  hand 
in  hand,  happy  as  little  children.  He  sat  si- 
lently, lost  in  thought,  his  anger  rising  by  leaps 
and  bounds  against  the  men  who  had  kept  him  on 
the  anxious  seat  for  a  month.  Straightening  up 
suddenly,  he  tore  off  the  navy  blue  necktie  and, 
hurling  it  from  him,  fell  into  another  reverie,  star- 
ing at  the  canyon  wall,  but  seeing  in  his  mind's  eye 
the  outfit  planning  his  punishment ;  and  his  eyes 
grew  redder  and  redder  with  fury.  But  it  was 
a  long  way  home  and  his  temper  cooled  as  he 
rode ;  that  is  why  no  one  knew  of  his  return  until 
they  saw  him  asleep  in  his  bunk  when  they  awak- 
ened at  daylight  the  following  morning.  And 
no  one  ever  asked  about  the  diamond,  or  made 
any  explanations — for  some  things  are  better  un- 
mentioned.  But  they  paid  for  it  all  before 
Johnny  considered  the  matter  closed. 

THE  END 

[438] 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recalL 


JAN  30  '62  G 


m36Z 


REC'D  LP 


NOV  3  0  1B6 


Ocr 


^ 


^W 


DEC281S66  8C' 


HECEIVED 


0EClb'66-sft"f 


LD  2lLiOAI>tlC)EP"r'  General  Library    , 

(Cl795sl0)476B  Umversity  of  California 

Berkeley 


10.  95155 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 


i'.  -."?,;:"',.« 


